


Much More Than Planned

by PositivelyPrimeval



Series: Tale as Old as Time [1]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Genre: Minor Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2020-10-06 08:54:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 57,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20504273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PositivelyPrimeval/pseuds/PositivelyPrimeval
Summary: A young prince must learn to adapt to the hideous form he has been cursed with, and to the servants around him that are no longer quite human. Belle’s mother has died and she and her father must figure out how to live with the repercussions. When their paths finally meet, Belle’s dream of adventures are dashed and Beast’s last hope has died.





	1. Chapter 1

“No, no! Please! I’m sorry!” he wailed, sinking to his knees at the feet of the impossible creature before him. The creature—the woman—stared silently down at him as he begged for his life. It almost hurt to look at her, for her beauty, and for the greenish glow that surrounded her like some cruel angel, hovering several feet in the air.

How could he have known that the hideous beggar woman at his door was in truth an enchantress? So many peasants came to ask him favors, to try and pursuade him to share in the wealth and comfort they had no right to. But had he known the enchantress’ true identity when she asked for shelter from the winter storm, he would have admitted her.

But it was too late for that now; he had angered her and no one could escape the wrath of an enchantress, not even a prince like himself.

“I have watched you grow, my young prince, and you have shown yourself to be nothing but cruel and selfish. You show no remorse for what you have done, and care not for your other human beings. I have decided to intervene before you can cause more harm,” the Enchantress said to him, her beautiful, terrible voice echoing around him, making him tremble at her anger.

“Had you allowed me entrance to your castle, I would have found a way to forgive you your past wrongdoings, for you would have shown there was some goodness in you after all. But now I can see that there is no love in your young heart to help you grow beyond your cruelty. You are a beastly human, and so it is a beast you will become.”

He felt himself shaking, but he couldn’t stop; he had no idea what the Enchantress had in store for him, but it would be no kindness.

Perhaps he had been a bit hasty in doling out punishments to those that angered him. But his bumbling servants and idiodic peasants, what else could he have done?

“Please,” he began again, hoping maybe he could convince her. “I promise I’ll do better. I swear I’ll—”

“It is too late,” the Enchantress interrupted, holding up a hand to silence him. “If you are not stopped, if you do not truly change, you will grow to harm yourself and your subjects through your pride and cruelty.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but his voice caught in his throat as a white hot pain shot through his spine. He crumpled, his arms convulsing towards his chest as the pain spread through his limbs like a poison. Unable to bear it any longer, he cried out. But the sound that came from his own throat was not the one he knew; it was deeper than any voice he was capable of creating, more gutteral and wild than any human he had ever heard.

“What…what have you done?” he gasped, his eyes clamped shut against the pain still ebbing through his body. It was beginning to ease, but too slowly. His words were deep, matching the gutteral cry of pain he heard just moments ago. It was not the more developed voice of a man that he had been starting to grown into, but a deeper, thicker version of his own voice.

“You have become the Beast you truly are,” he heard the Enchantress reply, her cold words filling his belly with icy dread. “And as you cannot abide your fellow humans, you shall be deprived of human company as well.”

“What?” he demanded, his voice still strange to him.

“Your servants will remain here, but not as humans,” the Enchantress repeated.

“I don’t understand,” he said, panting with the pain that still pulsed through him, but he had control of his own body again and looked up to face her. “What have you done?”

“Look upon your own hands, my prince.”

He did as she bid and screamed when he saw that, instead of the pale skin and delicate fingers, he now seemed owner to massive paws, covered in fur and tipped with wicket looking claws.

He trailed those ugly paws down his own body and found that he was entirely covered in fur, that he was no longer human.

“This can’t be!” he screamed, but clamped his mouth closed, unable to stand the voice that did not belong to him. He was a monster now, a twisted, grotesque thing. He collapsed again at the feet of the Enchantress, powerless to stop the wimper of pain and sorrow that came from him.

_Why_? he wanted to ask, but couldn’t make the word come.

“This rose shall remain in your castle,” she continued, holding up the same wretched rose she had tried to bribe him with just minutes ago.

He wanted to block her out, hurt her, claw at her with his new paws, but despair left him weak, and so he could only listen.

“It will bloom until your twenty-first year. If you can learn to love another, and earn their love in return by the time the last petal falls, the spell on you and your servants shall be broken. If not, you shall remain a Beast for all time, doomed to live alone with your loveless heart.”

He whimpered again and hung his head, trying to imagine what a lifetime would feel like as this creature. The Enchantress had charged him with an impossible task and he cringed at the injustice; it would be kinder if she simply killed him rather than torture him for ten long years with false hope.

“I shall also leave with you this mirror,” she continued on and he thought he detected a slightly kinder tone in her voice now. “This mirror will become your window to the outside world, a world you have dismissed of your own making, a world in which you are no longer part.”

He nodded, but said nothing. Was this mirror her way of taking pity on him? Or was it another means of torture?

“Remember this night and what I have said, my prince. If you do not find a way to change your heart, you shall forevermore remain a Beast.”

A blinding light consumed the Enchantress, forcing him to look away. When the light faded and he was able to open his eyes again, she had vanished.

“No! Come back and undo this!” he shouted, his deep voice echoing off the walls of the empty entrance hall. But nothing happened, nothing changed. He was alone.

Or perhaps not so alone; from the depths of the castle he heard the distant sounds of wailing. His servants were crying, and he could hear it so clearly with his new wretched ears.

Fury boiled in his chest at the sound. Nothing they felt could possibly measure to the pain the Enchantress caused him to suffer. With some difficulty, tripping over the massive wolf-like paws that had become his feet, he made his way to the closest of the sounds, pulling open the doors of the sitting room just off the entrance hall with an incredible force that surprised himself.

Inside, he found that there was no one there, but the sounds continued louder than ever.

“What is this?” he demanded to the empty air. “Cogsworth? Mrs. Potts?”

“Master?” the sound of Mrs. Potts voice reached him and he gasped in horror as a teapot started hopping towards him of his own accord. “Can it be you? It sounds like you, but…Oh, Master what’s happened?”

He couldn’t believe it. It had to be a horrible nightmare. When a mantel clock stepped forward to join the teapot, he turned and ran, fleeing back to his rooms in the West Wing.

His massive paws tripped over the edges of carpets and against themselves as he ran, making him trip and stumble as though he were just learning to walk. He realized as he forced his new body forward that it would be easier to fall to all fours to move, that in fact his body had the instinct to do so, but he would not give in. He would not give the Enchantress the satisfaction of succumbing to his beastly form so soon.

_I’ll wake up tomorrow and everything will be just as it was_, he told himself as he reached the stairs to the West Wing.

Just as he started to convince himself that this really was all a dream, he passed a mirror that hung in the hall before the doors to his rooms. He glanced at it as he passed, though he was too short to see anything except the top half of his face. But he stopped short at the reflection it gave him now.

Instead of the rather handsome face of an eleven year old prince, the mirror now showed him the image of a furry animal, near to a bear but with the horns curling from a head that was the size of a buffalo. And he stood much taller in the mirror than any eleven year old had a right to.

He raised his hand to the mirror’s surface, curious at the fangs that protruded from the lower lip in the reflection. But when his hand met the paw of the creature, he realized again that he was this creature. The fur was his, the horns and fangs were his own.

With a scream of rage that sounded like the howl of a wounded animal, he struck the mirror that showed him such awful truths, shattering its surface and distorting the animal’s image further.

He bolted as fast as he could manage to the doors of his rooms, searching for some sort of sanctuary from this nightmare. What had he done to deserve this?

The sanctuary he hoped for turned into only another torment for him. The rooms around him were meant for a prince, and he was no longer that prince.

Furious, boiling over with it, he swiped at the furniture that surrounded him, using his new and impressive strength to destroy sturdy wardrobes and handsome carpets. With a particular ferocity, he dragged his sharp claws against a portrait that showed him a face that was no longer his own, shredding the painting into ribbons.

When he made his way at last to the great windows that led out onto a balcony beyond his rooms, he paused in his destruction as he noticed something new that stood near the glass doors to the balcony.

A small table, intricately carved with gargoyles as the base, stood now before him. It was bare except for two objects, the most prominent of which was a glowing red rose protected underneath a delicate glass bell jar. Upon closer inspection, he could see that the rose was floating several inches above the surface of the table.

This must be that same cursed rose, he realized. What did she say? The rose will bloom until my twenty-first year. That was a long time to endure the curse she had put on him. Perhaps he could break it before then, though. He had plenty of noble young girls tell him how handsome he was, after all. And he was still a prince. Someone might want him.

Picking up the second object on the table, he lifted the mirror to his disgusting new face, careful not to drop it in his clumsy paws. Doing his best to ignore the image it reflected back at him, he recalled the instructions the Enchantress had left.

Feeling foolish, he spoke aloud: “Show me the one who will break this spell.”

Nothing happened.

Resisting the temptation to hurl the useless mirror across the room, he tried something else.

“Show me my castle.”

This time, the mirror glowed an eerie green color that matched the glow that had surrounded the Enchantress. It was so bright for a moment that he was forced to close his eyes. When he was able to open them again, he saw that the mirror’s image had changed. Instead of taunting him with his own twisted face, he saw instead his grand castle. Except that it, too, had changed. No longer was it made of the beautiful, bright stone that seemed to glimmer when the sunlight hit it. Now it was dark, foreboding, indeed even a bit frightening to look at.

Upon closer examination of the mirror’s image, he could see that the carefully carved cherubs and angels that had guarded the castle had all been turned into hideous gargoyles, adding to the sense of foreboding. His mother’s castle had been ruined, turned into a terrible prison fit only for a monster.

He returned the mirror to its place on the small table and went to the balcony to see if the mirror’s image showed the truth.

Leaning on the balcony’s low wall, he could see that the castle walls had indeed darkened, that the handsome carved cherubs that decorated the balcony columns were now distorted into gargoyles as the mirror showed. The lands, too, had altered. No longer were there sweeping fields of green and bright gardens, but unkempt grasses and deserted walkways.

A Beast did not deserve the beauty that had been this castle, and the thought despaired him. If the Enchantress had been so thorough in her spell, perhaps she did not even intend him to be able to break it.

Ten years she had given him. Ten years before he would be this monster for all of time. He wasn’t sure he could last a month as this creature, let alone a decade. And if the mirror was so useless as to be unable to show him who might break the spell, what hope was there? He could not leave the castle in search of this unknown love, he could not hope to find someone in all of France who might love the monster he had become, even if he could leave.

He sank to his knees as his misery overcame him. Who could ever learn to love a Beast?


	2. Chapter 2

“Maman!” Belle screamed, nearly tripping as she threw herself from her bed and into the hallway. Her hurried footsteps down the dark hall were abruptly halted as she ran into someone.

“Hush, my Belle,” Papa said, wrapping his arms around her. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“No, I need Maman,” she protested and began weeping.

“You know she needs her rest,” Papa said gently, stroking her sleep-tousled hair.

“It’s all right, Maurice,” her mother’s voice echoed from the slightly open door at the end of the hall. “Come here, my darling.”

Belle went into her parents’ bedroom, feeling now that perhaps her nightmare wasn’t as bad as she first thought, and that a nine year old girl was much too old to be running to her mother for such things. Nine was practically an adult as far as Belle was concerned, but it had been a particularly awful dream.

She peeked into the bedroom to see her mother reclined in bed, one arm already outstretched to her. Belle crawled under the covers and snuggled up beside her mother.

“What’s wrong, my dearest?” her mother asked, putting her arm around Belle’s shoulders and holding her so closely that Belle could hear her heartbeat.

“I had a nightmare, Maman. A giant shadow had locked me away somewhere dark and cold,” she said, shivering from the memory already drifting from her mind. “I didn’t know where I was, and I couldn’t escape.”

It sounded so simple when she said it out loud, but the dream had terrified her more than any nightmare she ever had before. The shadow was massive, looming over her as if it would never let her go. She wasn’t sure that it would hurt her, but the oppressive presence of the shadow was more than she could bear.

“Well, it’s all right now, isnt’ it? You’re safe here in my arms, my love. You know your Papa and I will always protect you, don’t you?”

Belle nodded, though by now she knew that her parents could not protect her from everything; the teasing of other children or tumbling down the stairs was beyond their control, of course. But she was still child enough to find comfort in the idea of her parents protecting her always.

“Shall I tell you a story to take your mind off your dream?” Maman asked and Belle nodded eagerly, cuddling even closer to her mother’s warmth. Maman always knew just what to do to chase Belle’s nightmares away.

“May I join you?” Papa asked from where he had been standing by the doorway. “I love a good story.”

Belle patted the bed beside her and sighed in content as she was comfortably surrounded by her parents on either side.

Her mother began a beautiful fairy tale, one of Belle’s favorites, and Belle felt her nightmare slip from her mind. A good story, whether from her books or one devised by her mother, was capable of banishing the difficulties of the worst day or the horrors of the most terrible nightmare.

Soon, though, her mother began to cough, halting the story as she fought for breath. Belle scooted a few inches away, giving her mother space as she had been taught to do when Maman had such attacks. The horrible cough and weakness of her mother had filled the better part of Belle’s eighth year and now almost all of her ninth, so Belle had plenty of practice in what to do during these horrible episodes. But Belle could never get used to them.

Papa got Maman a glass of water and helped her drink it, which eased the cough, but Belle knew her mother wouldn’t be able to continue the story.

Once her mother settled back down onto her pillow and began to breathe easier, Belle wrapped her tiny arm around her mother and held her as tightly as she dared. Her mother smiled, clearly exhausted by the coughing fit, but reached over to gently tug at a lock of Belle’s hair in a familiar, loving gesture. Belle snuggled closer to her mother, drawing Papa’s hand over her as well, and took up the story where her mother had left off, continuing the familiar tale easily.

Before she could finish, her mother drifted off to sleep beside her and Belle felt a warm sense of pride at this. The illness did not let her sleep much, Belle knew, so she was proud that she might help her mother rest a little. It made her feel grown up in the way she was able to do something for her mother. Belle glanced over at her father and smiled when she noticed that he, too, had fallen asleep to her story. She snuggled down under the arm of her father and onto the shoulder of her mother. It was like this, encompassed in the warmth and love between Papa and Maman, that Belle followed her parents into comfortable slumber.

_____

Belle woke to the sensation of being carried, something no one had done to her for quite a few years. She opened her eyes to find her father carrying her down the hall, his eyes shining too brightly in the dim light.

“Papa?” she asked, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“Hush, my Belle,” he replied and Belle heard his voice crack. Fear began rippling up in her heart; her father was crying.

“What’s wrong, Papa?” she asked, struggling to sit up in her father’s arms. Papa put her safely on her feet and knelt down in front of her. Papa was short, but she was tinier still, even for a nine year old, and she only had to look down a little to meet his eyes.

“Belle…Belle, you must be brave now. Your maman…” he broke off and looked away from a moment. Belle waited, but dread crept in amongst the fear. “She was sick for so long, you know,” Papa continued and Belle watched as tears streaked down his cheeks and into the whiskers he hadn’t shaved yet. “She’s happy now, I hope. Happy not to be ill.”

“Maman is gone,” Belle realized and was surprised to hear herself say those awful words so calmly. “Maman.”

Without a thought, Belle started back to her mother’s room. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Papa try to stop her, but she ignored him. She walked resolutely to the doorway of her parents’ room, but found she could go no further. She could see her mother lying on the bed, eyes closed, looking as though she were only sleeping.

“Maman?” she called, but did not dare go in further.

Surely if her mother was dead she wouldn’t look so much like herself. There would be some mark, some indication. But it was her own fear at entering the room that confirmed what she did not want to believe.

“Maman,” Belle whispered and sunk to the floor, still staring at her mother’s body, waiting for her to breathe.

Though she was only nine, and though her parents had done what they could to hide the worst from her, Belle was aware how very sick her mother had been. Maman had been a tutor, an unusal job for a woman, but she was good at it and, what’s more, she loved it. So when the day came that her mother decided she was no longer able to teach, Belle knew that something was very wrong.

Belle also knew that the doctors Papa brought to their home could not help her. And after all that, and though Belle considered herself to be a fairly smart child, she somehow never truly realized that all this meant her mother would die.

“Belle, come away,” her father said, his hand falling on her shoulder. But Belle hesitated, waiting to see her mother breathe, waiting for her to open her eyes. But Belle was left waiting.

Papa’s hands bid her to stand and she followed their direction although her legs seemed far away. She was directed back to her own room, but Belle could only see her mother lying motionless in bed.

“Is the girl all right?” a voice that was not her father’s asked. Belle didn’t care who was speaking, but she couldn’t block out the words, so she only listened.

“She’s a bit shocked,” Papa replied to the man Belle did not know and could not see as Papa closed her bedroom door with her inside. Numbly, she tucked herself between her bookshelf and the wall, curled up as tightly as she could manage, and fell asleep.

_____ 

“Belle?” Papa knocked on her door as he entered. She had been staring out the window, watching the bustle of the city below. Ever since they had shut Maman up in a box two weeks ago, she hadn’t wanted to go outside. She didn’t want to see where they used to walk, the shops they went to together.

Everyone at the funeral said that it was a shame that Belle had to lose her mother. But Belle didn’t lose her; she couldn’t go on some epic quest to find her, as the heroes in Belle’s books did to find great treasures. Maman was gone, not lost, and nothing she could do would change that.

“Belle?” Papa sat in the chair beside her bed. She turned and did her best to give him her attention, enough to notice how very tired her Papa seemed. “You’re such a brave little girl, but you’ve been worrying your Papa.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, ashamed. She didn’t want to maker her father worry, not on top of everything else, but she couldn’t seem to want to do anything.

“You’ve been so quiet, keeping to yourself these past few weeks. I know you miss your maman, but you haven’t even read your books since… What can I do for you, my Belle?” Papa took her hands and looked up at her in earnest.

“Nothing, Papa. I’m just tired.”

“All right, my dear. Get some rest. Tomorrow will be a new day.” He patted her hand and then he was gone.

Belle was glad to escape the sadness she saw in her father’s eyes; it was a sadness that mirrored her own and she hated to think her father was suffering so badly.

Why did Maman have to die?

Belle sat on the edge of her bed, her feet dangling above the floor, and looked at the small bookshelf opposite her. Many of her books were second hand, battered at the corners, but she treasured them above all else. Papa was right; she hadn’t read anything since Maman died. It seemed a betrayal to read a single word without her. But that was wrong, Maman would not want her to give up what she loved. If anything, it would be a way to remember her better, wouldn’t it?

Belle pulled a book with a soft red cover off the shelf; it was newer than the others because Maman had bought it brand new just for her on her sixth birthday. With a deep breath, Belle opened the cover.

In the top right corner of the inside page was Belle’s first scribble of her own name and Belle was proud that her penmanship had gotten much more grown up since then. The center of the same page had much more beautiful, scrawling letters though. Words written by her mother.

_Books are friends that never leave you and will teach you who you truly are. I love you, mon ange. ~ Maman_

Belle had read those words hundreds of times before, but they now seemed to take on a much higher significance. Now that Maman was gone, all Belle had left of her was her books and it was wrong to push them aside.

“Papa?” she called, wandering out of her room and downstairs, hugging the book tightly to her chest. She found him in the sitting room. He had his head in his hands, but sat up quickly when she came in.

“What is it?”

“Oh, Papa,” she cried, feeling sorrow well up in her chest until she it overwhelmed her. Papa came to embrace her, pulling her into his arms and encircling her tiny frame in his warmth. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she couldn’t stop the sobs that wracked her lungs.

“I miss her so much, Papa,” she wailed.

“I do, too,” he whispered and kissed the side of her head. It had been two weeks since her mother died; it was perhaps too late for all these tears, but the empty despair that kept her from properly mourning until now at last began to ebb.

“It’s all right,” Papa cooed, rocking her back and forth as if she were a baby. Belle was most certainly not a baby, but it felt good to be held so tightly, so she was able to put aside her nine year old pride for a moment.

“What are we going to do, Papa?” she wept, her repressed emotions now hitting her like a wave on the shore. “She’s gone!”

“I know, Belle. Hush now, everything will be all right. Maman will be watching over us, and together we’ll be all right.”

Belle hugged her book even more tightly to her, the corners poking into her stomach, but her painful sobs began to ease. She still wanted her mother, would miss her for as long as she lived, but thought perhaps that she and Papa would find a way to be all right.


	3. Chapter 3

He had slept in the furthest corner of his ruined rooms where the glow of the enchanted rose could not touch him, curled up in a miserable ball. As dawn brightened the sky into a dull grey, he woke and for a moment forgot all that had happened the previous night. But just the simple act of breathing, filling lungs that felt far too big, recalled the nightmare he was living. Why did this have to happen to him? Surely there were worse people than he out in the world. All he did was lose his temper a few times. His mother always said his temper would get him into trouble.

He surveyed the once handsome room and hung his head, a little ashamed of what he had done to it, but he knew all the finery of his now lost life was no good to this…this thing he had become.

He raised his hands—paws now—to examine them closely for the first time. If he was going to be stuck in his form, he might as well understand what he was.

They were big, much larger than an eleven year old boy’s should be. His palms, like his entire body seemed to be, were covered in thick, silky brown fur just a shade or two off from what his human auburn hair had been. The palms had a single leather-soft pad that ran across the top of his palm, just where his fingers met.

His fingers were each as thick as two of his human ones had been put together, already proven stronger than he could ever imagine possible. But the worst of it was the claws that tipped each finger, extending over an inch beyond the tips of his finger. They were horrifying, glinting viciously in the new light following the worst day of his life. If he wasn’t careful, he would cut himself with his own claws. It did explain how he was able to tear the furniture in his room apart so easily, though.

He moved on to examine his arms, astounded as he felt new powerful muscles beneath the fur. He felt himself breathe again through his massive lungs, but now could feel the power fill his chest and the deeper, intimidating voice it provided him. His paws worked their way down to his legs and he realized he was wearing nothing more than a ragged shirt and a tattered pair of trousers, all that was left to him after his transformation.

Ignoring that for the time being, he worked his way down legs that were bent more like a wolf’s hind legs, bending at an angle quite the opposite human legs should. After he recovered from the stomach-churning angle, he moved down to look at his feet. They were paws as well, but different from the paws that served him has hands. While he still had the dexterity of fingers and somewhat kept the appearance of a human hand, his feet could be called nothing else but an animal’s paws. Perhaps they were modeled after those of a wolf’s, like his legs, but so much larger than any wolf known to man.

While he was examining his legs, he noticed an extra bit of fur that didn’t seem to belong to anything. Curious, he reached down and tugged at it, feeling an odd pulling sensation at his rear. He leapt to his feet in alarm and turned in a circle in a vain attempt to see the full extent of what the Enchantress had done to him.

He reached back and took hold of what was trailing behind him and nearly screamed in shock. He had a tail. A tail! What woman would fall in love with a creature who had a tail?

He rubbed his face in frustration and disbelief at this new discovery and was shocked at the contours he felt beneath his fur-covered fingers. He had nearly forgotten, in light of the discovery of a tail, that his face had also been twisted and morphed into that of a hideous animal. The tail wasn’t even close to the problem and he revised his previous thought: What woman would fall in love with a creature with a face such as his?

He moaned in despair as he felt his broadened and slightly upturned nose, the two large fangs that protruded from his bottom lip, the odd, floppy ears and, perhaps worst of all, the horns that grew from his skull.

He was hideous.

But he was strong, so much stronger than he could have ever imagined, and that made him feel powerful amidst his despair. In fact, he felt powerful enough to confront his weepy servants, hoping to show them that he had the worst end of the bargain. So he flung open the doors of the West Wing and stalked down the halls, the thuds of his heavy footsteps echoing in the emptiness. No one was around, which was odd. Usually the halls were busy with servants bustling along on their mundane tasks. Even though they were…things now, surely he’d have run into someone.

Instead of giving up on his new, powerful superiority, he decided to do something he never had before: he went into the castle’s kitchen, following the muffled sounds of chatter as he got closer.

He burst inside, allowing the doors to swing closed behind him, and surveyed the new room. Nothing could have prepared him for what he found, though. He was surrounded by household objects, all moving, most with faces, and all looking at him and his unexpected entrance.

“Enough!” he bellowed, making some of the china pieces rattle with the force of it. “You dare weep for yourselves when I have become this?”

“Your…Your Highness?” a candelabra with the voice and rather distincive nose of his maitre d’ Lumiere hopped forward on its brass base. Beast flinched back, making no effort to hide his horror at this thing.

“No!” he thundered, an unexpected anger filling him at Lumiere’s words. “Not ‘Your Highness,’ not anymore. You will call me ‘Master’ and nothing else. Is that what you wanted?” he roared to the ceiling, addressing now the horrible woman who had done this to him. “For me to give up everything that matters? I am a prince no longer. I am a Beast, just as you said!”

He turned back to the objects who cowered before him.

“And you are to blame for this, too! If the Enchantress did this to me, then you must have done something to deserve this as well. I do not want to hear any more whimpering! You will endure this knowing that your master has a worse fate than yours!”

“E-enchantress? Your—Master, tell us what’s happened. Please.” But he ignored the mantel clock with the same stuffy air as Cogsworth and ran from the kitchen and back to the sanctuary of the West Wing as quickly as he could.

As he pushed over the remnants of a wardrobe, he realized that the servants had no idea what had happened to them, since he had insisted dealing with the winter storm intruder alone. A small sliver of guilt shot through him, but it was quickly subdued. Why should he explain himself to his servants?

He retreated to the dark corner of his room he occupied the night before and tried very hard not to weep. An eleven year old prince should not weep, and a Beast should weep even less so. But so much had changed, so much was lost: his title, his humanity, his beautiful home…

He pushed away a treacherous tear from his eye and instead grew angry. If his father hadn’t left him after his mother and sister died, perhaps this wouldn’t have happened. Perhaps his father would have been cursed instead. His deserved it, certainly more than he did, but he doubted the Enchantress would see it his way.

“I am a Beast,” he muttered to himself, his growling voice still foreign to his ears. “I am a Beast,” he repeated more strongly and stood, using the wall behind him to heave his massive body upwards. “And it is a Beast I shall become.”

He ripped off the already tattered shirt that still clung to his new body, decided that his cloak only added to the terrifying image he now decided to embrace, and leapt out onto the balcony of the West Wing. He straightened up onto his hind legs, threw his head back, and roared into the dying sunlight.

He heard the sound echo around him as birds scattered into their air from their trees and was pleased at its power. He drew another breath and roared once more, pulling it from the bottom of his stomach to show the world what he had become: a powerful, dangerous Beast who was not to be trifled with. He grinned with a dark pleasure as he sank back down on all fours.


	4. Chapter 4

Belle had helped her mother around the house before while Papa went to work or tinkered with his inventions in the basement of their little apartment. But now that Maman was no longer there, Belle was at a loss. Papa must not have realized how much her mother had truly done, how much Belle had been left with now, but Belle did the best she could uncomplainingly. Papa had to go back to work only a few days after Maman’s funeral, and though he tried to hide it from her, he seemed like he was floundering a bit. So Belle tidied and ran errands and tried to cook as best she could at the massive cast iron stove she could only just see the top of. A stool helped, but she was scared of burning herself.

That’s when Maria stepped in.

She was their neighbor, a widow at least a dozen years older than Papa, and was quite friendly. Belle liked the way she laughed, loudly and without embarrassment.

“I knew you’d be left like this,” she tutted when Belle let her in. Papa had already left for work that morning and Belle had just started on the laundry.

“Men never notice anything we do, do they?” she went on as she sat down next to Belle.

“But Papa doesn’t—”

“I know he doesn’t mean anything by it,” she interrupted. “But that fact is you’re just a child and how on earth are you supposed to manage all this by yourself? Here, give that to me and I’ll hang it to dry.” She took the shirt in Belle’s hands and hung it to dry on the line Belle hung across the kitchen, just as her mother used to.

“That’s very kind of you, but you don’t have time to help me with everything. Perhaps—” Belle searched around for something that Maria could help with, something that wouldn’t make Belle feel like she couldn’t handle the tasks it took to live as every other person did.

“Perhaps you could help me with the cooking. With dinner,” she amended. “The stove is too big for me. I can manage porridge and eggs and that sort, but dinner is so much more complicated.”

“Are you sure that’s all you want, my child?” Marie took a pair of Papa’s trousers from her to hang up. “You must have time to see your friends, to play like children should.”

“I’ll have time. It’s only me and Papa, after all. There’s not much I can’t handle. It’s really just the cooking because the stove is too big for me.”

“Well, if you’re sure, I’d be happy to help with that.”

“And you must be sure to tell me what I can do to repay you,” she said, knowing that her parents would be disappointed in her if she accepted help for nothing.

“Nothing of the sort, child. I’m happy to help you, and by the time you’re old enough to cook as you like, you can make me a delicious peach pie.”

“A pie?” All that work, all that help, for just a pie?

“I’ll hear no more about it now. Let’s finish this and we’ll get on with dinner before your father gets home.”

_____

“What’s this?” she heard Papa ask and Belle turned to find him come home from work, standing in the kitchen door as she and Maria made dinner.

“Maria offered to help me with dinners,” she explained. “The stove is much too big for me to use it properly. It’s just for dinner, and just until I grow a bit,” she added quickly, not wanting her father to think she had accepted charity endlessly.

“You sure, Maria?” Papa asked, looking to the older woman.

“As sure as anything. She’s so tiny for nine, I’d be afraid this thing would eat her up,” she laughed, banging a wooden spoon on the stove as she cooked with a clang.

“I’m nine and a half, and I’m not that tiny,” Belle muttered begrudgingly.

“Don’t worry, mon ange, you’ll grow,” Papa said, nearly laughing, and came over to kiss her forehead. “Let me wash up. Will you join us for dinner, Maria?”

“If you like. Not every night, mind, but tonight I will,” she agreed.

Belle wasn’t sure she liked Maria sitting at the table with them, chattering endlessly. At least she hadn’t taken Maman’s chair. But Maria was kind to help and Belle couldn’t begrudge her the price of a dinner. Still, it was a relief when she left.

“She’s the talkative sort, isn’t she?” Papa sighed when she left and Belle had to stifle a giggle.

“She’s so nice to offer to help, though,” Belle put in, not wanting to be ungrateful.

“She is. I’m no cook, and you need to eat properly if you’re to grow as you should. You are a bit small for your age, now that it's come up.”

“I’m not that small,” she protested, her pride beginning to get a little hurt. “Maman never thought I was too small.” Immediately she regretted her words as her father’s expression fell.

“I’m sorry, Papa,” she said, feeling a pang of guilt and she went to embrace him. “I know you miss her. I miss her, too, but I think you miss her differently.”

“You’re very perceptive for your age,” Papa said and the sorrow in his face lightened enough for him to smile at her. “It’s all right. I don’t want to make you think you can’t talk about Maman.”

“I shouldn’t say things like that, though. It’s not fair.”

“Well, just know that I will always do the best I can for you. Sometimes I might need a little help, and Maria is a much better cook than I am.”

“That’s for sure,” Belle said with a giggle and her father’s laughter soon joined in with her own. Their laughter might have lasted longer than was warranted, but it felt good.

So, nearly every night, Maria would come over and cook dinner for Belle and Maurice. Sometimes she would stay to eat with them, but often enough she would return home again. But Belle always watched what she did, taking notes and trying to remember everything so Belle could replicate the recipes when she was older.

When Maria had left and Papa went into the basement to work on his inventions, Belle was free to do as she wished. Usually she would read, but sometimes, when she was sure her father was staying in the basement, she snuck up to her parents’ room, open one of the two small wardrobes, and sit amongst her mother’s dresses.

Papa hadn’t be able to pack up her mother’s things, and Belle was secretly glad of it. The vanity by the window still displayed her mother’s hairbrush and favorite perfume, making it seem like her mother would walk in at any moment. Best of all, though, her clothes in the wardrobe still smelled distinctly like her. Sitting among them, feeling the soft fabric pool around her, Belle could close her eyes, breathe deeply, and imagine her mother’s embrace once more. But she would always leave before Papa came back upstairs. She didn’t want him to find her there.

_____

Two months since Maman had gone, and Papa still looked more weary every day. Belle was terrified; was Papa ill, too?

“Are you all right, Papa?” she asked one night when he looked particularly worn down. “Do you need to see a doctor?”

“No, no, mon ange. I’m not ill, I promise,” he assured her, and she could see his effort to perk himself up. “Just some grown up worries on my shoulders, nothing for you to worry yourself over. Go to bed now, I promise I’m all right.”

Grown up things? What did that mean? Belle sighed and did as she was told, supposing that Papa wouldn’t tell her even if she asked. At least he wasn’t ill. So Belle lit a candle by her bed and read a few chapters to distract her mind before she fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

“And they lived happily ever after,” Clarice finished and closed the book she had been reading from with a happy sigh. Belle mirrored the sigh and smiled at the heartwarming end to the story.

“It was looking pretty bad for the prince for awhile there,” Belle laughed as Clarice added the book to their disorderly pile on the grass beside them.

“We’ve run out of books again,” Clarice noticed. “We’ll have to return these and get more.”

“We’ll go through the whole store at this rate,” Belle added. “I’m glad Papa decided we were old enough to go by ourselves. He never has time to go with us. He never liked waiting around for us to decide, anyway.”

Clarice laughed at this and fixed her golden blond braid where it had come loose where she leaned against the bark of the tree while she read.

“Your mother always let us stay as long as we wanted,” Clarice said as she affixed the ribbon in her hair and started picking up the books. Belle flinched at the reminder of her mother, Clarice was so casual with her reference and still it stung.

“Belle, I’m sorry!” Clarice exclaimed and dropped the book to take her hands. “I know you miss her. It isn’t fair of me to bring her up.”

“It’s been over two months. I thought the pain might go away after so long,” Belle said, looking at her shoes.

“You were so close to her. I don’t think you’ll ever stop missing her.”

“Let’s bring these back to the shop,” Belle said, changing the subject as she gathered up the books Clarice had dropped. “It’ll be dark soon and Papa will worry. So will your parents.”

“I wish we could live together like real sisters,” Clarice said as they made their way out of the park. Spring was starting to bloom around them and Belle and Clarice took advantage of the warmer weather to have their first picnic since Belle’s mother died.

“Then we wouldn’t have to worry about so many people looking for us,” Belle agreed. “Maybe you can stay over sometime. It would be nice to have some company other than Papa and Maria.”

“Is she still annoying you?”

“She’s not so bad. I’m glad she’s around to help, but she’s gotten tired of my stories already and just gossips or complains about her aches and pains. I really do like her, but sometimes it can be hard to bear all that so frequently.”

“Maybe you can come over to my place for dinner. My parents are as good of cooks as Maria but they aren’t as tiresome. Most of the time,” she added with a giggle.

“I’ll have to ask Papa, but that would be nice,” Belle agreed, glad to have her friend. Papa had been acting so strangely though, and Belle couldn’t be sure that he would let her go, but she didn’t tell Clarice that.

“Here’s the bookstore. Hurry up, my arms are tired!”

“Oh, the books aren’t that heavy,” Belle protested teasingly. “Maybe next time we’ll pick out some nice small ones you can carry. Perhaps some lovely picture books.”

Clarice stuck her tongue out at Belle and they both burst into giggles as they walked through the bookshop’s door.

Belle loved the store with its slightly crooked doorway and worn paint. Books were piled on every available surface and the owner’s cat could always be found napping on whichever pile it wished.

She and Clarice had discovered it while on a walk with their mothers a little over three years ago, and ever since then they visited the store at every opportunity. Since Belle’s mother was a respected tutor, the disheveled old woman who owned the shop allowed her and her chosen company, namely Belle, Clarice, and Clarice’s mother, to simply borrow books rather than purchase them. It was a courtesy that was extended beyond the death of Belle’s mother and Belle was grateful for that, since she had no money to buy all the books she wished to read.

The bell on the door announced their presence as they entered the store, immediately followed by a gentle push at Belle’s ankles.

“Hello, Persephone,” Belle said, crouching down to scratch gently behind the grey and black striped cat’s ears. When she was rewarded with a loud purr, Belle straightened up and rebalanced her pile of books.

“Why’s the cat named that? I’ve always wondered. It seems a rather silly name for a cat.”

“Persephone was the queen of the Underworld in Greek mythology,” Belle explained. “So this Persephone is queen of the bookstore.”

“Queen indeed,” Miss Sybil, the store owner, said as she emerged from a tall stack of books to their right. “And how are my adventurers today?”

“Adventurers?” Clarice asked and Belle mirrored her confusion.

Neither of them had been on any adventures, though they very much wanted to. Sometimes, she and Clarice would sneak down to the docks of the river where they would unload all sorts of goods. They came from vast ships which traveled across the oceans to distant lands. Someday Belle would board one of those massive ships for herself. When she was older.

“Oh yes, didn’t you know? Every book you open is a new adventure.” Belle smiled at the elderly woman as she started sorting through the stack of books in their arms and thought she understood what she meant; Belle always felt slighly exhausted after reading a good book, as if she indeed had gone through several lifetimes inside its pages. But Belle longed to go on adventures of her own, not to just read about them. She was still young, her time would come. She hoped, anyway.

“Are you bringing any home for tonight?” Clarice asked as she thumbed through the nearest crooked stack of books.

“Not tonight. I have one at home I’d like to finish first.”

“How many books do you read at a time? My goodness, don’t you do anything else, my dear?” Miss Sybil exclaimed.

“I help Papa around the house. And Maria is slowly teaching me how to cook so she won’t have to soon. I’ve grown an inch in the past few months, after all,” she bragged.

“Well, just don’t ruin your eyes. I’ll see you girls soon.”

“Try to be patient with Maria,” Clarice reminded Belle as they left the shop and headed towards their homes. They were only a few blocks apart.

“I know. It’ll be all right, I know she means well. I’ll see you tomorrow!” Belle said as they approached the road where they had to part. Clarice waved and continued left while Belle turned right.

She had not anticipated Maria getting so tiresome so quickly; the evenings began to be a time Belle wanted to avoid. She knew she should be grateful, and she was, but she did not enjoy gossiping the way Maria did. And part of her, she supposed, hated the fact that a neighbor was teaching her to cook when it was supposed to be her mother doing that.

“It’s not Maria’s fault,” she muttered to herself as she pushed open the door to her house. Belle should not be frustrated with someone who was only trying to help.

“Ah, the triumphant return,” Papa’s voice greeted her as she took her cloak off her shoulders to hang on a peg by the door. “And how many books did you and Clarice devour today?”

“Several,” Belle said with a grin. “Is Maria here yet?”

“Maria isn’t coming tonight. I thought it’d be nice if it were just you and me.”

Normally, this would have pleased Belle, but there was something in her father’s expression that told her this was not good.

“What’s wrong, Papa?”

Papa sighed, a deep, long sigh that seemed to come from his very soul. “I’m afraid there’s some grown up things I haven’t been telling you,” he began, sitting on the deep green, slightly worn sofa, and motioned to her to sit next to him.

“Papa, I’ll be ten in a few months,” she protested as she sat beside him. “You don’t have to treat me like a child.”

Papa took her hands and looked at her silently for a long time. She did her best to return his gaze, but when tears began welling in his eyes she had to look away.

“All right, you can still treat me like a child since I am still nine, I guess,” she amended. “But will you please tell me what grown up thing is wrong just this once?”

“You know your mother was a remarkable woman,” Papa began and Belle quickly nodded. “She taught many children through the years, with families who paid her very well. Because of that, I was able to go on with my inventions and only work on carpentry sometimes. I’ve had a couple successes with my creations, you know.”

“I know, Papa. I think your inventions are wonderful!” she said truthfully. It took a brilliant mind to come up with the sorts of things her father created, and she was proud of him.

“Thank you, my Belle,” he said with a smile and tucked back a stray piece of her hair that seemed to be always falling across her forehead. It was a sad sort of smile, but it was one of the better ones she had seen from him in the past couple of days.

“The point is, your mother had brought in most of the money it takes to live here. I’m afraid I can’t afford it on my own, especially after what we paid the doctors. We’ll have to move into a smaller apartment.”

Belle sat very still for a moment and took in what her father said. Move? But this was her home, where Maman had been. How could she move away from it?

“Will we be far from Clarice?” she asked finally. Out of the thousands of questions that flooded her head, that was the first to break through into words.

“I heard of a place that’s close by. It’s much smaller, but no, it won’t be much further from Clarice,” Papa replied and Belle sighed in relief. “You aren’t worried about giving up this nice place?”

“No, Papa,” she replied quickly. Why would she worry, really? “I’ll miss it. Maman was here. But as long as it’s you and me, I know we’ll be all right.”

“And if we’re near Clarice,” he added with a bit of a brighter smile.

“That too,” she agreed with a tiny giggle.

“My Belle, you are such a little angel. We’ll have to move soon, and we’ll have to give up a lot of our things. That includes a lot of Maman’s things.”

Belle could see the pain it caused him to say that, to give away the only pieces of her they had left, and she realized suddenly how much Papa had truly loved Maman, like a romance in one of her books. A tragic romance.

“Not everything,” she protested. “Can’t we keep a few of her things?”

“The painting of you and her I want to keep. My two beauties,” he said and brushed her cheek to make her smile. “But I’m afraid not much else. I’ll have to get rid of all my supplies down in the basement and…and I’m afraid we won’t have room for most of your books.”

“My books?” she repeated. How small was this place that she would have to get rid of her dearest possessions? She tried to remember that Papa was giving up an awful lot more than she, but her books were her life.

“I’m sorry, my dear. But there just isn’t room. Maybe you could give them to Miss Sybil. I’m sure she would put them in a special place where you can still read them.”

Belle nodded knowing she shouldn’t argue, not when this was clearly so difficult for him. But her books?

“I’m sorry, my dear. You can pick out your favorites, of course, and I’ll help you take the rest to Miss Sybil next week.”

“We’re moving next week?”

“I’m afraid so, my Belle. I know it’s very fast, but it’s partly because I couldn’t bear to tell you, partly because it _has_ happened so quickly. But we’ll be all right, you and I. Now, enough grown up talk for tonight. I’ve asked Maria to make dinner earlier, so it’s warming in the oven.”

Belle obeyed and tried not to worry. What were her books when it weighed in the balance of getting rid of her mother’s things? Her dresses still smelt like her, her things arranged as if she had never left, and now they would be gone for good.

But when she went upstairs to begin to pack her room as Papa asked, it wasn’t Maman’s dresses she thought about.

All those stories, all those friends with their warm spines and friendly pages. They were her friends as much as Clarice was, as much as all the other children who preferred to tease her and cause mischief were not. How was she to say goodbye to that which her mother had taught her to love?

Rather than boxing up her books as she should have, Belle instead took every volume off her shelves, pulled each pile out from under her bed and from corners of her room, and piled them around herself like some sort of paper and leather fort. There were about two hundred books in all, now stacked around her in a circle. Belle breathed in and savored the smell of ink and leather and paper, and tried to remember that the stories were still in her head, that she wouldn’t be without them even though she didn’t have the hard copies any more. Besides, Miss Sybil would surely still let her borrow books from her store.

It wasn’t the same as having books she could call her own, though.

Belle began reading. She picked up book after book from the walls of her fort and devoured every word, soaking up the stories like bread with gravy. She would cement the stories in her mind, the feel of the friends surrounding her, the adventures they led her on, the security of sameness that would never be again.

_____

She must have fallen asleep, for Papa was shaking her shoulder just as the sun was creeping into her window. Belle peeled her cheek off the page of a book she had accidentally used as a pillow and looked up at her father rather sheepishly.

“Belle,” he started and she could hear the sadness in his voice as her sleepy eyes tried to focus. He shifted a column of books so he might sit beside her and took her hand.

“You know I would love to give you anything you want. I would spoil you rotten if I could, and if you could become rotten at all. But I can’t.”

“It’s all right, Papa,” she said and rested her head against his shoulder, breathing in his scent of sandalwood and oil from his machines. “I was being selfish, but I really don’t mind all that much.”

Perhaps what she said was a lie, but it was one of those white lies that Maman always said was all right to use once in a while. Belle didn’t want Papa to think he was failing her. He could never fail her, not so long as he loved her.

“You’re such a good little girl,” he said and wrapped his arm around her to squeeze her so tightly to him she couldn’t breathe for a moment. “Sorry, my big girl. You are almost ten, after all.” He grinned down at her and Belle realized he was teasing her.

“Oh, Papa,” she sighed. “I’ll always be your little girl.”

“Good,” he said and kissed the top of her head. “Come down to breakfast when you’re ready. And if you can come home a little early from Clarice, I’d appreciate it.”

“I don’t have to go out today,” she offered. “There’s a lot to do if we’re to move soon, isn’t there?”

“No, you go on. Just be home a little earlier, like I said. And don’t worry,” Papa added as he left her room. “We’ll be all right together.”

“Of course we will, Papa,” she agreed and smiled. Even if she did have to give away most of her books and Maman’s things, at least they still had each other.


	6. Chapter 6

Beast spent the next month exploring the seemingly boundless limits of his new body. Since he had embraced what the Enchantress had given him, he found his new body was quite impressive. He had never felt powerful before, not the way he felt now. It was true he could make the servants do whatever he wanted, and that had not changed, but now he was bigger, stronger, and could do things physically no eleven year old could do. Like leap down a full flight of stairs without injury or eat three huge meat pies in a sitting (although that did give him a bit of a stomachache later and he wouldn’t be repeating the experiment).

The servants stayed away from him unless specifically called for, which he largely preferred. Solitude suited him, but after a while the walls of the West Wing began to feel as though they were closing in on him.

His first attempt to alleviate this newfound claustrophobic feeling was met with uncalled for accusatory looks from the servants that roamed the halls. It wasn’t his fault they were _things_ now. Even the Enchantress said they had a hand in their fate, but he didn’t like being made to feel guilty. And gone were the days where he could dismiss them out of hand. Talking glasses and pots were not fit for the normal world, so they had to stay. And their continued presence made him feel guilty, which made him angry.

So, instead of moving about the interior of the castle with the accusatory servants, he began to experiment with moving outside the castle’s walls.

As a small boy he had often wished to climb the tall spires of his castle, and now he felt he might be strong enough to actually achieve such a dangerous thing. So when spring began to make the days milder and little snow remained to make him slip (he wasn’t a fool, after all), he jumped up onto the low wall of his balcony and eyed the rooftop several feet above his head.

He crouched down, bunching up all four limbs underneath him as he judged the distance, took a breath, and leapt.

He went much further than he had anticipated and felt all four of his paws successfully hit the rough shingles of the rooftop above the West Wing.

He took a moment to balance himself, but only a moment, before he began to climb upwards. Higher and higher he went until he had reached the peak of the West Wing’s roof. Then he dared to leap to the rooftop nearby, successfully regaining his footing, and climbed higher and higher until he reached the very topmost roof. He clung to the highest spire of that tallest roof and looked out at the new view this vantage point provided him.

Before him, illuminated orange and red in the dying sunlight, lay the familiar forests that surrounded his castle, his family’s second home that served as a refuge from a cruel father who preferred to stay in the city. His mother loved this place, the castle that hid them from her husband. He, his sister, and his mother spent most of their time here, surrounded by forest on all sides. He had never been allowed to explore those trees, those deep, mysterious trees that seemed to hold so many secrets. He had fought against this rule at first, even going so far as to escape from his nanny’s watchful eye. He had made it to the edge of the trees when the howl of wolves send him back, nearly in tears, the fragile dignity of a four year old compromised.

Now he might be able to better explore those trees that once frightened him so. A Beast would be king of that forest.

But it was enough for today that he conquered the rooftops. Beast lingered at the pinnacle of his domain like some bird of prey. The wind tousled his fur, the early spring winds doing little to chill him, even at this altitude.

Really, this whole enchantment wasn’t so bad, he reflected as he watched the breeze sway the treetops. He had rarely left the castle anyway, so he was used to the solitude. He had some idea that his father had forbade anyone from visiting the castle after he left, after he abandoned his only son when his wife and daughter died of scarlet fever three years ago. Regardless, isolation had been a luxury he had grown used to. If the Enchantress was trying to use it as a punishment, she was sorely mistaken.

And now, climbing the rooftops, he felt more liberated than he ever had.

Beast chuckled as he climbed back down towards the West Wing as darkness engulfed the sky, pleased that then Enchantress’ plan had gone so awry. Yes, he was a Beast, but perhaps it wasn’t all that bad.

As he leapt back onto the balcony with all the grace of a cat, he noticed the enchanted rose that hovered under its protective glass. He approached it, his shadow from the moon behind him darkening it as he stepped forward. Perhaps he should crush it now and be done with the curse cleanly, none of this foolish waiting around for something that would never happen.

How would he feel to remain this creature for the rest of his life, not because he was doomed to it by a love that he never found, but of his own design? Not for the first time in the months since the curse befell him, he wished that the mirror showed the future that he might see what his decision might mean later. What use was it to see the present, even if he could see it happening outside his castle?

A knock at the door interrupted his reverie and immediately his temper rose at the disruption. His servants largely ignored him now unless specifically summoned, and he preferred it that way.

“What?” he demanded as he threw open the door. When he saw no one before him, it took him a moment to remember to look down. The teapot at his feet held the gentle, expressive face of Mrs. Potts, but it couldn’t have been more different mutated into a porcelain vessel.

“I’m sorry Your—I mean, Master,” the teapot began and Beast could hear the rattle of her lid against her porcelain body as she shook in fright. “But there’s a traveler at the door and we’re all at a loss at what to do. Lumiere wanted to let him in, but I told him to wait.”

“A traveler?” he grunted. There were never any travelers; few people braved the forest these days. After his father left, visitors had all but abandoned the castle, and no one had approached his door in some years. Barring the Enchantress, of course.

Either way, there was someone at the door, and his servants were clearly unable to do anything about it. So it was up to him to drive the man away, for go away he must.

Without a word, he stepped over Mrs. Potts and made his way downstairs, sweeping down the stairs on all fours, cloak billowing behind him. He came to a stop by the front doors, but froze. The last time he had opened these doors to a traveler, things had gone very badly for him.

A rare pang of guilt shot through him as he realized he had not yet told them the particulars of what had happened. Three months they had all been like this, and he hadn’t even been able to fully explain what happened to them. But he pushed the guilt aside and focused on the intruder at his door. This could be fun.


	7. Chapter 7

He could hear the man moving behind the thick wooden door as he approached it and was surprised at how strong his hearing was. It used to be that unless the person on the other side of the door used the heavy metal knocker, he would be left standing unawares to anyone inside. But now Beast could hear the man brush his coat and shuffle his feet as if they were standing right next to each other.

Beast opened the door slightly, enough to draw the traveler’s attention, but not enough that the stranger might see inside. Beast didn’t want the stranger to see him, not yet.

“What do you want?” he growled, pleased that his voice was deep and terrible enough to make the man jump.

“I—I got lost and I was hoping for some shelter until morning. The wolves…”

“The wolves are the least of your problems,” he interrupted, enjoying his sport. “The wolves might kill you. but if you enter here, you will most certainly die.”

He certainly had no intentions of killing this man, but he was finding far too much enjoyment in terrifying him.

“W-who are you?” he stammered, tilting his head to try and see inside. Beast had been waiting for this. Dramatically, he threw open the door and stood at his full height. Perhaps he was only a little over six feet tall which, by itself, might not be overly terrifying, but his appearance would surely send the man running back into the trees. The man’s eyes did widen in fear, but he stood his ground.

“A bear?” the stranger choked out.

“A Beast,” he corrected, grinning at the man’s fright and showing his fangs. But he was still confused as to why this man refused to run from him. He wanted his solitude back and he was running out of ideas; was this man brave, or merely stupid?

He took a step towards the man, looming over him as best he could though the man was only a couple inches shorter. The man stumbled backward, which pleased Beast, but missed when he reached for his dagger. Quick as a flash, it was in his hand and arching through the air towards Beast.

Beast dodged as best he could but, while his own agility amazed him, it was not enough to evade the blade completely. The knife nicked his forearm, not deeply, but enough to make him jump back from the suddenly hostile traveler.

“Come back here, creature,” the man hissed, jumping forward to hurt him again. But Beast was quicker this time and slammed the door between them, gasping in fear. He could hear the man banging at the door, but Beast ignored it, knowing the door would hold.

He slumped to the floor and examined his wounded arm. It wasn’t deep; in fact, it barely bled, but he had never been hurt before, let alone attacked, and he was inclined to feel sorry for himself. He whimpered and prodded the wound gently with his finger, the elation he felt earlier quickly disappearing to be replaced with shame and embarrassment.

“Master?” He looked up to see several of his servants scattered a little ways from him, Mrs. Potts at the front. He turned his head, too ashamed to look at them, those pitiful creatures that had lost their humanity because of him and his foolishness. He was a fool, a fool to think he had any power, could find any good in this curse.

“Master, do you think he’ll come back?”

Beast realized that the banging at the door had ceased, which either meant the traveler had left, or he was biding his time to attack again. He might have even gone to find more men to start a real attack. Beast could hardly fend off one man with a small dagger, let alone an entire group with weapons. For the first time since the Enchantress had cursed him, he was properly frightened.

“I don’t know,” he grunted and turned his attention to his small cut, avoiding their faces, avoiding letting them see his.

“Master?” Mrs. Potts said again. He grunted to show he was listening, but did not look up. “Perhaps it’s time you explained what has happened.”

He sighed heavily, knowing Mrs. Potts was right, as she usually was. But telling the tale would only add shame to his already wounded pride.

“Very well,” he said at last and heaved himself to his feet. “Get me something for my arm and I’ll explain. Just to you, Cogsworth, and Lumiere,” he added, glancing at the others that had gathered in the hall. He didn’t want to struggle through the story in front of his whole staff. The three head servants were enough.

The servants scattered as he walked forward towards the sitting room nearest the front door. He had a mind to pace in front of the large fireplace, anxious at the idea of that stranger, returning, but found he was exhausted by the stress of the encounter. So he merely flopped down into the high-backed chair that stood before the fire and gazed into the flames.

He had felt so strong, so powerful just a few hours ago, but it was clear now that it was a lie. Yes, he was still stronger than he ever imagined he could be, but what good was that against a hunter’s more experienced knife? He was a BEast, and he was also a child, and for the first time he understood what that meant. Beyond ugliness, beyond strength, he was now a creature to be feared and hated by man, and too much of a child to be able to fend them off.

It made him despise his very skin and ache to be free of it. But the only way he would be free would be to have someone fall in love with him. And if he was to be such a hated creature, then there was truly no hope for him after all.

The door to the sitting room opened and three household objects walked in of their own accord. It was still quite a thing to see usually inanimate, stationary objects hop towards him freely. Mrs. Potts he knew, had been the only one he had been able to bear to talk to since the enchantment. The candelabra he vaguely recalled recognizing earlier as Lumiere. A tall candle for the gangly man. And, unless they had gone against his orders to only include the three head servants, the mantel clock bringing up the rear could only be Cogsworth, head of the household.

“Now, let’s see about that cut,” Mrs. Potts said as if nothing were amiss, as if he were not a monster and she a teapot. But it was Cogsworth who stepped forward and Beast realized with a start that he was the only one with usable hands.

“I’ll do it myself,” he grunted, snatching the cloth away from Cogsworth’s tiny brass hands with enough force to send him tumbling backwards on the side table he had clambered up on. He hadn’t meant to do that; he’d have to remember to be less rough with them. He was so much stronger now, and they were all the more fragile. The last thing he wanted was to hurt them; they might be useless, bumbling things, but he didn’t want to break them.

Beast winced as he dabbed at his tiny wound with the damp cloth Mrs. Potts’ teacart brought in for them, wheeling around as if being pushed by a ghost. The shame of the injury hurt more than the cut itself, and he scrubbed at the small stain of blood that barely caked his fur, silently cursing himself.

The servants waited in silence, but it was an expectant silence, heavy and pressing in on him, and it annoyed him. Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer and threw the cloth down with a wet snap on the small table beside him.

“You want to know what happened?” he grumbled. “You’ll regret it, but I’ll tell you.”

He told them at last, explaining everything the Enchantress had said to him. He hated reliving it, hated remembering, but he had kept his servants in the dark long enough. They were part of this too, and they should know what they had to face.

He told them about the rule of the ten years, the rose that floated in the West Wing, and the magic mirror in his possession. They were all silent as he spoke, letting him tell his tale as quickly as he could while still giving them the details they probably deserved. He knew he wouldn’t be able to endure many questions, so he decided it would be better to tell them everything he knew up front.

“Ten years? Mon Dieu, that is horrible!” Lumiere exclaimed, his brass arms waving as he spoke, the candlelight at the ends flickering. Beast idly wondered whether Lumiere could douse and light the candles of his own accord or if he had to have someone do it for him.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Cogsworth put in. “If the Master can…”

“Who’d fall in love with this?” he bellowed, furious that Cogsworth could even pretend to hope. “What girl in her right mind could come to a castle in the middle of a forest and throw herself at a monster like me?”

“Nonsense, you’re not a monster. And someone will see that, just you wait,” Mrs. Potts said and Beast heard a bit of resentment in her otherwise kind tone.

“Well, I will be after ten years,” he retorted and tried not to pout “And what will I be after twenty? An old monster with nothing to live for. The Enchantress will have herself a laugh.”

“I’d like to give her a piece of my mind,” Mrs. Potts said with a huff. “Destroying all our lives with a wave of her hand. But we mustn’t give up hope.”

“It does look rather grim,” Cogsworth moaned before Beast could roar his disagreement.

“It’s in the darkest of times when we have to look on the bright side,” she shot back and not even Beast could reply to that. Maybe she had a point, but what good was it? He was a monster, and it would only get worse.

“Perhaps the Enchantress will show us mercy after a little while,” Lumiere suggested. Rage rose in Beast’s chest at the very idea. He did not want mercy, not from her, not even if it would turn them all human again. But he merely snorted through his nose.

“We can’t fix this,” he said after a long moment. “There’s nothing anyone can do. Might as well accept it.”

“I will not accept it,” Mrs. Potts said, her voice suddenly hot and angry. “I won’t, not until I can take my little boy in my arms again. Begging your pardon, but nothing you say will make me lose hope.”

With that, Mrs. Potts hopped out of the room, leaving Beast and the other two servants to stare after her speechlessly.

“You might as well leave, too,” he growled at the other two.

Once the door had closed behind them and his solitude was assured, Beast allowed himself to slump back in his chair, hanging his head and bending forwards as grief at last overcame him. He had been foolish to see any good in this wicked enchantment, to find any sort of grim pleasure in it. It had destroyed his life and would continue to mock him every time he looked in the mirror or saw a servant pass in the hall.

He wondered perhaps if that horrible traveler hadn’t been sent by the Enchantress to knock him down a few pegs. He couldn’t bear to think of it, and he quickly banished the idea from his mind. He was beaten, either way it had beaten him, and he could do no more than accept the fate that had been wrought upon him.


	8. Chapter 8

Three days had passed and there was no sign of the malevolent traveler. Beast watched anxiously from the castle’s rooftops for any sign of him, but after three days of waiting he resolved the man would not return. And yet he did not want to climb down to face the rest of the castle.

Ever since he told the story of how the enchantment befell the castle, he had been unable to face any of his servants. Granted, he did not seek out their company before, but he could not bear being made to feel guilty for what happened. So he refused to leave the sanctuary of the West Wing or the solitude of the rooftops.

But after two days of waiting for the intruder to return, of avoiding all contact, of holing himself up in his rooms, the reality was that he had grown ravenously hungry. At first he had been too worried to eat, thinking that at any moment a mob might come to kill a monster. But as the initial panic subsided, it grew harder and harder to ignore his growling stomach.

He wished the servants would leave trays of food for him, but he could not ask them to, not without seeing their accusatory looks, nor did they have the courtesy to anticipate his needs. Did they themselves even eat? Perhaps they had forgotten that he was still flesh and blood and therefore prone to base needs.

On the third day, Beast had enough of his hunger and dared to venture out of his sanctuary towards the kitchen. He knew that was where the servants congregated, where he was bound to run into that which he had been trying to avoid, but he was past caring. Hunger tore at his belly and thirst closed his throat until it burned. It was time, past time, nearly too late, to find nourishment.

But as he approached the swinging doors to the kitchen, he heard some of the servants inside talking and he paused to listen, his new strong ears able to catch every word.

“…serves him right, the selfish brute,” someone was saying. It didn’t sound like any of the head servants; more likely it was some lowly hall boy whose name did not even matter. “But why did we have to be part of it? How can I be expected to go on with my chores without any hands?”

“Right improper, that is. We should’ve quit while we had the chance. Now we’re stuck like this! If I could, I’d have a few words to say to that Master of ours,” another voice said indignantly.

“And what words would that be?” Beast demanded, pushing through the doors slowly and stalking towards the speakers. The beer stein and the carving knife on the kitchen table began to shake visibly. “Do you have something to say to me?” he asked, his voice and his temper rising as he approached the table, his claws clicking on the stone floor, a growl rising in his chest and he felt the hackles on his back rise.

“M-Master, Please forgive us! We were only—” the beer stein began, but Beast would have none of their excuses.

“Enough!” he bellowed and swiped his massive paw along the surface of the table.

The two objects jumped to the floor before he could touch them and they scurried beneath the nearest cabinet like mice running from a cat. And, in truth, he had not aimed all that well at them; most likely he would have missed them anyway. He was furious, but not blinded by it. Or so he thought.

He followed their path beneath the cabinet and reached to turn it over, as he had with most of the furniture in the West Wing, but a voice stopped him.

“Stop this at once!”

Beast turned at the voice and saw Mrs. Potts hopping across the counter towards him.

“You cannot come in here and bat about the servants! Master, look what you were about to do!”

Beast turned to face the cabinet and looked more closely at its contents. Several teacups were behind its glass doors, shivering and cowering in fright.

“Those are children, Master! You cannot come in here and destroy the place. Several weeks ago that might not have mattered much, but now you could kill someone!”

Beast backed down at Mrs. Potts’ words, ashamed at his actions, at how easily he let his rage get the better of him. He glanced between Mrs. Potts and the teacups in the cabinet, horror flooding through him at what he had been about to do. The children of the castle were annoying, but they were so young, the oldest of them at least three years younger than himself. Too young to deserve any of this.

Without a word, Beast turned and fled from the kitchen, but he did not seek refuge in the West Wing again. Instead, Beast bolted out the front doors and onwards towards the forest, diving into the trees without hesitation. He all but galloped between the trees on all fours, not caring where he went or what he might find in the shadows. All he could see were the frightened faces of the children he almost hurt, almost killed, and he ran until he could be far enough away to keep from doing more damage.

It was clear he could not be trusted around his servants. First he nearly broke Cogsworth with a simple motion of his hand, then he almost shattered several children in his rage. He was too strong and too ill-tempered to be around such fragile things.

It was nearly dark before he finally stopped, exhausted, and looked at his unfamiliar surroundings. He had gone deeper into the forest than he had ever been; looking back the way he had come, he couldn’t even see the highest tower of the castle. The trees overtook all of that, creating a maze of snow and grey. For a moment he was terrified he might not find his way back, but quickly he realized that perhaps that did not matter. Perhaps he would live in the forest like the animal the Enchantress seemed to have created of him.

The idea thrilled him even as he dreaded the destruction of what little humanity he had left, and he continued on his way through the trees to admire his new domain.

As he roamed the trees, enjoying how the freezing winter winds left him almost completely untouched through his thick fur, he heard the sounds of some sort of animal quite close by. Deciding to investigate, Beast stalked quietly through the trees, his giant paws barely crunching in the snow until he found the source of the sounds: a wild boar.

Instinctively, he crouched low to the ground even as his stomach gave a rumble so loud he was sure the boar would hear. He was disgusted at the idea of mauling the wild boar as his posture suggested he was about to, but he was so very hungry and the castle’s kitchen was unwelcoming of an animal like him.

He crept closer to the boar nosing in the ground, unaware of his presence. Beast felt his heart begin to pound in excitement of its own accord. He was nearly close enough to pounce on it, but the boar suddenly started and scampered away squealing in fright.

Beast sighed, wondering what he had done to frighten it, when he noticed a shadow to his left. Emerging from the trees, trotting after the boar that just escaped, was a lone wolf, its teeth bared and growling in its pursuit.

Terrified, Beast attempted to slink backwards into the trees before the wolf noticed him, but his movements only drew its attention. The wolf froze, its yellow eyes staring directly at him, renewing its growls as the fur on its back stood on end. Beast stood still, hardly daring to breathe as the wolf took a step towards him. Quickly, Beast glanced around for the rest of its pack, but he seemed to be alone. It was odd for a wolf to be alone, but Beast was only grateful there were not more.

The wolf took another step forward and Beast retreated two steps back. He had no idea how to fight a wolf, he didn’t know how to kill anything. Even if it was alone, this creature would surely kill him. How was an eleven year supposed to take on a wolf? Even an eleven year old Beast?

But the wolf lunged again and Beast had no choice. In a panic, he swung out one of his massive paws to keep the wolf from catching hold of his neck and ending the confrontation right there. To his surprise, his paw made contact and sent the wolf sprawling in the snow.

Encouraged by this, Beast followed through on his attack, swiping at the wolf as it began to stand back up. The wolf stumbled again, but it was quicker to recover and lunged at him, catching him on the chest with one clawed paw. Beast roared in pain and backed away to catch his breath, but the wolf continued its attack. Blindly, Beast swiped at the wolf and was lucky enough to catch its side with his own claws, ripping into the creature’s hide.

It whined and staggered, but lunged again. Beast was ready for it this time though, and hit it with the back of his hand with all the power he could muster, knocking it against a nearby tree. Beast crouched, ready for it to rise and attack again, but the wolf remained where it was.

Cautiously, Beast approached the wolf and prodded it with his paw. It didn’t move. He had killed it. He had overcome a wolf all on his own!

Overcome with pride for himself, Beast threw his head back and roared in delight. The sounds of his victory echoed amongst the trees, sending birds flying from their perch. And somewhere in the distance, the wild boar squealed in fright. Beast grinned and stalked forward in search of his prey.


	9. Chapter 9

“This isn’t so bad,” Belle said as she walked through the door of her new home.

The apartment was on the third floor of a rather run down building several blocks from their old apartment. It hadn’t been fancy, their home before, but it was warm and cozy as this place certainly was not. The door from the hall opened up to reveal a tiny place: kitchen, sitting room, and dining room were all combined into one room the size of their old sitting room. The furniture that was left behind seemed to sag and Belle wondered how many owners they had seen. But Papa had been right; there was no way all of their belongings were going to fit in this tiny place. 

It had be a great wrench for both of them to have to sell so much, especially her mother’s things. But Belle kept the fairy book her mother had given her, and the portrait Papa had painted for Maman’s birthday one year, the one of her and Belle together. That and a few pieces of the most important jewelry were all that remained of her mother now, but it was enough. It had to be.

“We’ll fix this place up in no time and it’ll be as cozy as you like,” Papa said cheerfully as he put down the suitcases he had been carrying. “A little whitewash and some practical carpentry will do wonders for this place.”

Belle looked around the dark little room and tried to imagine what Papa was describing. She wasn’t sure a simple layer of paint would make much of a difference, but he seemed optimistic and she tried to do the same.

“I’m going to put my things in my room,” she said but paused and looked around again. To the right, the furthest from the kitchen, was a door Belle assumed led to a bedroom, but she didn’t see a second door. “Papa?”

“Ah, yes, I was going to tell you. There’s actually only one bedroom. I want you to have it.”

“But that’s not—”

“I don’t want any backtalk, young lady,” Papa said sternly but his eyes smiled with kindness. “You’re growing up into a young women, and young women need a place to call their own. I’ll be quite content in a corner as soon as I build a bed frame for myself. Won’t take me a day with the leftover lumber at the yard.”

He had thought it all out, countered her arguments, and had a plan in store. He was trying to make this transition as easy as possible for her, she realized.

“Very well, but I’m going to help set it up so you’ll be comfortable. Maybe a curtain hanging here,” she said, pointing to the far corner on the wall opposite the bedroom door. “And a side table here for a lamp. What do you think?”

She looked back at her father and was surprised to see he had tears in his eyes.

“Papa?”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” he sniffed, wiping at his eyes hastily. “I was just thinking how proud Maman would be of you. How proud I am of you. Here now,” he said, thrusting a suitcase at her before she could say anything. “Might as well start unpacking. Go on, now.”

She did as he said, suspecting he needed time to himself. He could have had that with the bedroom, she should have insisted he take it. But as she opened the door to the bedroom that was little more than a large closet with a small window on one wall, she couldn’t help but be a little selfishly glad she had her own space.

There wasn’t much for her to unpack; two spare dresses, one her very best that she had saved for special occasions, a spare set of shoes, a handful of hair ribbons, and, of course, her books. She had saved a half dozen of them, among them the fairy tale book her mother had given her. The rest were sold to Miss Sybil’s shop. It had been hard to part with her friends, but in the end they were only the hard copies of the stories she kept in her head. As long as she kept the book her mother gave her, the rest didn’t matter.

Her small library sat on the one windowsill, her dresses hung in the crooked wardrobe, and set about making up the sagging mattress with the sheets she had washed and dried before they left their old home. She sat on the bed when it was made and looked around the dingy room. It didn’t feel like home, not like the other place. She had grown up in that apartment, her mother had been there, and this place…well as long as Papa was there, what did it matter? And Clarice was still just blocks away. What was a fancy room or nice furniture compared to that?

“That doesn’t sound so awful,” Clarice said as they lay out their blanket in the park. Spring was in full force now, and it was pleasant to sit in the dappled shade of a tree.

“It’s not. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it’ll be all right once we’ve put a little work into it.”

“Well, of course,” she replied matter-of-factly. “You can’t expect to just go into a new place and have it perfect.”

Belle smiled, but Clarice had no idea how much work her new home required. She took a breath and tried to be more optimistic.

“I’m glad we’re still living near each other, at least.”

“Me too. Were you able to fit all of your things?”

“I had to get rid of most of my books,” Belle confessed. “Miss Sybil has them now. And we had to sell most of Maman’s things, though Papa packed a trunk of things to keep. He says he’s saving her wedding dress for me,” she added and scrunched her nose up at the idea.

“Blech,” Clarice exclaimed, sticking out her tongue. “Married. Who wants that?”

“Not me,” Belle agreed with equal disgust. “I want to go on adventures, see the world.”

It was one thing to enjoy the happy endings in her books, but that wasn’t something Belle wanted herself. How could she settle down before her life even started? Besides, she couldn’t see herself falling in love with anyone.


	10. Chapter 10

Six years had passed, and not a single ray of hope shone to signal the end of the curse upon him. His seventeenth birthday had gone and his twenty-first drew still closer, like a great black cloud signaling his eternal doom.

Since his first few months as a Beast, his life had hardly changed. He had returned triumphant to the castle after his first battle with the wolf, and he continued to hunt amongst the trees. He had gotten so much stronger since his first battle with the wolf, too. He didn’t exactly go looking for fights, but sometimes a wolf or small bear would feel entitled to the prey he had hunted, and he had to defend himself. They thrilled him, those fights, overcoming a fierce animal most men would succumb to. But he was not a man, and his battles ensured that he had domation over his territory.

Mostly, though, he hunted for food. Boar, deer, whatever he might find, he dragged up to the West Wing and devoured, leaving the bones scattered about the floor. Soon the West Wing looked like the den of a great predator, for that was what he had become, and he lived willingly among the bones and stench of death. It was much more suitable for his form than delicate china plates and silver forks that the servants would give him.

He was sure he drove the servants mad with the mess he made, but he didn’t care. He was a Beast, and as such he did not care for the worries of others.

He barely even talked to any of his servants anymore, not that he held conversations with them before that. Occasionally he would see them in the halls on his way in or out of the castle, but rarely he talked to anyone and no one dared speak to him except for Mrs. Potts, Cogsworth, or Lumiere. They were the only ones brave enough to try, even though his reception was consistently less than inviting.

Still, however isolated he might truly be, it was nice to know that there were creatures inside his castle who would still speak to him. Beast needed that company very desperately just a month after his seventeenth birthday, when spring had finally driven the winter chill away.

He had been in search of his dinner in the forest one evening when his keen nose caught the scent of something different among the trees. Curious, he went in search of it, following the scent like some massive hound dog.

It wasn’t long before he found the source and immediately he wished he had ignored it. Just a few yards away from where he stood hidden were three travelers, evidently very lost. Hardly anyone traveled through that forest, and no one ever strayed from the well-marked paths. Occasionally Beast would come across the scent of hunters, but ever since the traveler attacked him within the first few months of the enchantment, he stayed far away from them.

But these people were not hunters, he realized as he watched them argue. A fact that was made obvious when he noticed that there was a girl with them.

Was this his chance? Could this be the girl who would break the spell over him? He crept closer to them, inching around a massive boulder to peer at them from the far side.

What could he say to this girl that might make her love him? She was lost with her two companions; perhaps he could lead them back to the road. But if he did that, she would be gone. Maybe he could try to talk to her?

Whatever he did, he had to do it fast before the girl and her companions moved too close to one of the nearby towns.

Beast drew out of his hiding spot behind the boulder and stalked towards the three humans. Quickly, his eyes darted between the two men with her and assessed that they had no obvious weapons. He could see that these two men were twins, perhaps the girl’s brothers. But his most important observation was that the girl appeared to be around his own age and, even better, was quite pretty. Though he wasn’t sure if this fact made him more terrified or less.

Deciding he had to act, he slunk forwards. He got within a few yards before they noticed his hulking presence, and as he predicted the two men stood defensively in front of the girl. This was hardly an issue, though. He had gotten stronger in the past six years, stronger and faster, and not to mention larger. He was well over nine feet tall now; what had he to fear from creatures so much smaller than he?

Still, he was careful not to seriously injure them. The girl would not thank him for that. Beast knocked them unconscious without any trouble, leaving him and the girl alone.

Unfortunately, the girl started screaming as her brothers fell, the sound piercing Beast’s sensitive ears.

“Be still,” he growled, shaking his head to drive the sound away.

“You stay away from me!” she shrieked. He had expected this too, but he took another step towards her anyway. It occured to him that it had been years since he really looked at another human and he noticed how similiar her attempt to scramble away from him was so much like the prey he hunted.

“I won’t hurt you,” he grunted.

“No, please!” she cried and fell to the ground in a ball. Beast watched her shake in fear and he realized there was nothing he could do to ease her terror.

“Look at me,” he demanded roughly, growling so his sorrow would not show in his voice. “Look at me, I said!”

The girl’s face slowly tilted up to him, but he noticed she could not meet his eyes.

“The road is that way,” he told her, pointing east into the trees. “The nearest town is about another two hours’ journey. You will be on your way as soon as these men wake.”

“W-what are you?” she stammered and Beast had to stop himself from striking her for her rudeness. Instead, he merely turned away and galloped back the way he had come, away from the humans who proved so useless and towards the sanctuary of the West Wing.

How could he have been so stupid to think he might have earned the girl’s favor? She couldn’t even look at him, let alone love him. What else could he have expected?

He burst through the doors of his castle and bolted up the stairs as fast as his paws could manage, ignoring the confused calls of Mrs. Potts and Lumiere.

Beast slammed the doors of the West Wing behind him, securing his solitude and his lonliness. He slammed his fist against a nearby table, making its legs give way and sending it collapsing to the floor with a resounding crash.

As he moved from object to object, seding each one scattering across the floor or exploding into splinters, he roared in his fury. He was sure the servants could hear him, but he didn’t care. Why shouldn’t they know that their situation was hopless? He had finally found a girl who dared venture so near his castle, and she was too terrified to even speak to him. What was he to do, drag her by her hair back to the castle, leaving her brothers lost in the forest while he tried to woo her by force? He was not so cruel or so desperate that he would do that. At least, not yet.

He could feel himself changing, nearly daily, his already hardened heart reverting more and more into the darkness of the Beast. Someday he might be a proper beast altogether, leaving no trace of the human he used to be. The thought terrified him, sending his rage spiraling into horror and leaving him to cower in a corner.

Only four more years remained before the enchantment would become permanent. Four years and he would remain a Beast for the rest of his life. And if he continued to lose himself as he had been, there would be nothing left of him to mourn what he once had, what he could have had again.

A soft knock came at the door some time later and Beast raised his head at the sound. He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting in the corner of his room, but his stiff muscles told him it had been a few hours at least.

“What?” he grunted, just loud enough for whoever was outside to hear him.

“It’s Mrs. Potts. May I come in?” Beast was silent, but apparently she decided to take that as permission to enter. He did not contradict her.

Beast watched as she took in the mess he had made of his room, waiting for her to locate him in the rubble.

“What’s wrong, Master?” she asked when she spotted him.

“Nothing,” he grunted and turned his head away.

“Come now. You haven’t done anything like this in years,” she retaliated and Beast almost smiled at her gumption. Though Beast could easily crush her tiny porcelain body, Mrs. Potts still dared to scold him and, though he’d never admit to it, he appreciated her concern.

“I met a girl in the woods,” he growled after a moment.

“A—a girl?” Mrs. Potts asked and he noted how carefully she guarded her tone.

“Yes. She was terrified of me. She wouldn’t even look at me. She might have been my only chance, and she wouldn’t even look at me,” he moaned and leaned forward to bury his face in his hands.

“Don’t lose heart, Master. I know it looks bleak, but there’s still hope. You mustn’t give up yet,” she tried to comfort him.

Beast was aware of her kind words, but could not acknowledge them, knowing his voice would give away the fear that was still churning inside him. After a moment he heard her hop away, leaving him alone again. Only when the sounds had faded did he look up to see where she had been standing. Perhaps she was right; there was still four whole years before the rose would begin to wilt, after all. And who knew how long it would take for all those petals to fall. Anything could happen in that time.

Beast stood and went to the rose, reassuring himself that it had not yet begun to fade. Seeing that it was still full and blooming, he turned instead to the mirror that lay on the table beside it.

“Show me the girl in the forest,” he demanded. Immediately, the mirror’s surface glowed brightly and cleared to show in the girl he had encountered just a few hours ago. She was helping one of her brothers to his feet while the other one held his head in his hands. It was obvious the men were suffering from severe headaches, but Beast had done no more damage than that.

He watched as the girl told her brothers what had happened, how an impossible creature attacked them and tried to speak to her, that “it” told her where the road was. The men laughed at her and called her a fool, but in the end followed the direction Beast had told the girl to go.

Beast put down the mirror and the image disappeared. He was torturing himself by trying to see some sort of kindness in the way the girl spoke of him, but her face held nothing but fear and confusion. Perhaps she wasn’t meant to be the girl who would break the spell, but if not her then who?


	11. Chapter 11

“I’m back, Belle,” Papa’s voice came from the doorway. Belle looked up from her book to watch her father put his toolbox down with a dull thud, hang up his hat and coat, and shuffle wearily across the floor to collapse in the old worn armchair across from the sunken couch she sat in.

Papa had been working full time as a carpenter since Maman died six years ago, and every day Belle thought he looked more tired than the last. She begged him to try to find another job, or even the same one with a new crew that would work him less hard, but he refused. “We need the money,” was always his answer.

“Supper’s nearly ready, Papa,” she said as she watched her father close his eyes and lean his head back in his chair.

“That’s good,” he sighed.

His black hair was nearly all grey now, some of it was turning white even. It broke her heart to see him working himself so hard. She had tried to get a job; she had applied in a few shops, even at Miss Sybil’s bookstore, but no one seemed to be hiring beyond a few days of sweeping and tidying.

She had taken those short-term jobs and fed the two of them with what she earned. Indeed, their supper that night was bought with what she earned sweeping up clippings at the flower shop that morning. Belle knew she was cleverer than that, could do so much more, but no one wanted a fifteen year old girl in a patched and worn dress with high-browed dreams.

“Papa?”

“Mhm?” he replied without opening his eyes.

“Why don’t you work on your inventions anymore?”

“Not enough hours in the day, my Belle,” he said, lifting his head long enough to smile tiredly at her as he replied.

Belle returned her gaze to her book, but found herself too distracted to read the words in front of her. She hated to think of her Papa working ten, eleven, twelve hours a day at a job that gave him no merit just to pay the rent.

He liked the work, he had done it before in her childhood, but this company he was working for took advantage of him. Papa tried to keep it from her, but Belle had asked around and knew that the foreman was a dishonest man. He never told her so, but Belle had suspicions that Papa was in debt to him and that’s why he couldn’t leave. She was so proud of him for trying, for sticking with it, but there had to be something better for him. Better for both of them.

She rose to serve dinner, pushing those thoughts aside for the moment. Belle had gotten quite a bit better at cooking over the years. With no one to help her as Maria had, Belle borrowed cooking books and drew on what she could remember Maman and Maria teaching her. Papa never complained while she learned, even when she horribly burned dinner one night when she was eleven. And, if she allowed herself a bit of pride, she had gotten quite good since then. In fact, she had become quite the domestic. She learned to cook and sew quite neatly. Papa’s curtain for his sleeping space was her first experiment with sewing; Belle still laughed at herself for the crooked lines and clumsy knots, but Papa would never let her redo it once she learned to do it more neatly. Now she could sew a stitch in a tear so neatly you could barely see it. But none of it was what she wanted.

“I’ve got an early morning,” Papa said as they ate. “So don’t worry about breakfast for me.”

“You’re working too much, Papa,” she protested. “Isn’t there anything I can do to help?”

“Don’t worry, my Belle. You should enjoy your childhood before it’s gone. You’ll be sixteen in what, eight months? Soon you’ll be thinking about handsome young men and I’ll lose you.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, Papa,” she said, not bothering to hide an eye roll. “I have no interest in men before I’ve had my adventures, and they have no interest in me.” Though that wasn’t quite true; she had caught a few boys staring at her while she walked down the street, she just hadn’t bothered to encourage them.

“Then I shall lose you to your adventures,” Papa amended with a smile. “Either way, you are not to be bothered with my problems.”

“Very well, Papa,” she said with a forced sort of smile and the subject was dropped.

_____

“What is it?” Belle asked as Clarice giggled. She and Clarice had walked down to the market street together as they usually did on Tuesdays, and Belle was enjoying the people run busily about their business. It was fun to narrate their lives in her head as if she were writing their stories, but something different was happening this time.

“Nothing,” Clarice replied hastily and ducked her head. “Let’s go this way.” Belle shrugged and continued to walk with Clarice, dodging around shoppers as they went. It was clear Clarice was intent on following someone, so straight was her path, but she wouldn’t answer any of Belle’s questions.

“Quick, here!” she said, diving towards an apple cart.

“Apples?” Belle asked as Clarice picked up an apple and examined it with too much enthusiasm. But she noticed Clarice’s eyes kept darting to her left and Belle followed her gaze until she saw a boy grinning at them.

“Who is that?” she asked with a careful nonchalance, dropping her eyes from the grinning boy.

“Who is who?” Clarice evaded, but Belle gave her a look and she sighed. “I honestly don’t know. He’s been staring at me since we got here.”

“Well, he’s giving me the creeps. Why don’t we just go to the bookstore?”

“All you ever do is read,” Clarice snapped and Belle had to stop her eyes widening in shock.

“That’s all you ever do, too,” Belle reminded her, keeping from snapping back though just barely.

“Well, maybe I’m beginning to understand that there are more important things than words on a page, Belle,” Clarice sighed and glanced back at the boy again. “Do you think I should go say hello?”

“I suppose,” Belle muttered, but Clarice was already walking towards the stranger.

It hadn’t been that long ago that she and Clarice vowed to go on adventures like the characters in their books before settling down. While what they had planned—finding genies and sailing with pirates for buried treasure—were now childish and understood as impossible, Belle still dreamed of traveling the world. Clearly, Clarice was finding something else to dream about.

Belle watched as the boy approached Clarice and engaged her in conversation. Clarice put on a show of shyness at first, but before long she was talking animatedly with him. Belle supposed she had been completely forgotten about, so she turned away and towards Miss Sybil’s shop.

Clarice was Belle’s closest friend, her only friend really, because they shared a love of reading. No one else she had met thought it a worthwhile pastime. Posh women read novels sometimes, and men when to school far beyond their childhood to learn the world’s secrets, but for a girl to want to learn as much as Belle and Clarice did was strange and cause for ridicule. Belle had never minded that, not when Clarice was at her side, but as she walked alone to the bookshop, for the first time she felt the weight of loneliness without the only friend who understood her.

Papa had warned her that this might happen; Belle and Clarice were getting older, their priorities would change, and they would start attracting a different sort of attention from their peers. Papa didn’t go into much detail about this, but Belle understood enough to know that she didn’t want to be tied down with a husband and a screaming brood of children before she was twenty. Not that she didn’t want that someday, but certainly not any time soon. And most definitely not if it meant being nothing more than cook and bottle washer to some boorish man.

But it seemed Clarice was moving a lot faster than Belle in that department.

Belle picked out a few books from Miss Sybil’s shop and went to one of her favorite spots in the nearby park, a spot that she and Clarice often went to together.

Maman had been a lonely person too, at least according to Papa, but she had been able to have an exciting career tutoring children. Perhaps Belle could follow her lead, at least for a little while. Belle wasn’t sure it was her dream to educate children, she wasn’t sure what her dream was beyond traveling, but it didn’t sound all that bad. And once she had enough money, she would be able to leave Paris and go on any sort of adventure she wanted.

Filled with new purpose, Belle went home to change into her best (or the least patched) dress and seek out the families of the children that Maman used to teach. Of course by this time the children would have grown, but perhaps they might know other families who needed a tutor. She wasn’t specially trained, but she knew a lot, and she liked children. Why shouldn’t it work? At the very least it was worth a try.

Belle brushed out her dress, dusted off Maman’s old tutoring books that were too battered to sell, and made her way back of the apartment in high spirits, her loneliness at Clarice’s desertion forgotten and her mind whirring at what might be.


	12. Chapter 12

Belle had succeeded in getting two letters of reference from families that her mother used to work for. Once they had seen how much she knew and how eager she was, they gave them to her willingly. One family even gave her a name of another family to interview for and within six months Belle was tutoring children from three upper class families.

Her wages went towards feeding herself and Papa mostly. Papa had fought her on this matter for quite some time, insisting that she should not have to work to support her father. But Belle was stubborn, even more so than her father, and won the right to contribute to their home. He did insist on paying for everything else, which Belle agreed to. She was secretly glad of it because it allowed her to start saving, little by little, for her future travels.

But she still had a long way to go, so Belle continued to tutor two twin five year old boys named Luke and Steven, a six year old girl named Collette, and an eight year old boy named Jean.

Of the four children, only Collette had any siblings who were not under Belle’s charge: an older brother of seventeen years named Gustave. Belle had a few polite conversations with him, at least enough to know that he was a doting older brother who wanted the best for his sister. According to him, he had wanted to teach his sister himself, but their parents insisted he focus on his own studies to become a lawyer.

It would have been a lie to say that Belle was not impressed by him; to become a lawyer was a very prestigious thing, and his kindness towards his sister was endearing. But Belle made sure to keep her focus on her work and not on Gustave’s shockingly beautiful green eyes.

Even though Belle had been spending much of her time with her new students, she was still able to snatch moments with Clarice. Though Clarice herself was quite busy, too. The boy from the market had apparently taken quite a liking to Clarice, having hardly left her alone since the day the two of them had met. In fact, Belle could hardly see Clarice without Thim as clinging to her side like a lost puppy.

Belle did not dislike Thim as, but she was lucky to have an hour or two with Clarice on their own, and their daily reading sessions had all but disappeared.

According to Clarice, Thomas did not mind his chosen lady’s hobby of reading, which Belle was relieved to hear. Belle would have had some words to say about that if that had been the case. But it was Clarice who found her priorities changing as she and Thomas grew closer. To Belle it was clear things would never be the same between her and her best friend, and she recognized the clear mark of the loss of their childhood.

But her job was rewarding and, as a whole, things could have been worse. At least Clarice was still in her life.

The summer sun beat down on her as she made her way to Collette’s beautiful town house for their session. It was nice to have the fair weather back, but the summer heat made her long walks between her students’ homes uncomfortable.

“Good afternoon, Mademoiselle Belle,” Charles, the butler, greeted formally as he opened the door for her.

“Good afternoon, Charles,” she replied when she could be sure she wouldn’t giggle. It was still quite a thing for her to be called mademoiselle by someone’s butler. Charles smiled and winked at her as he closed the door behind her. Charles had been kind to her since the moment she started tutoring Collette and had made her feel more at ease in the richly furnished house.

The maid, on the other hand, was not so sweet. Angelique would often interrupt Belle’s lessons to unnecessarily offer tea or to clean something in the room, and Belle got the distinct impression that Angelique did not trust her. Perhaps it was because the people Belle worked for were so wealthy and Belle so obviously was not, Angelique might have decided she would be tempted to steal something. The very thought of it insulted Belle, so she merely did her best to try and be kind to the distrusting maid.

“Collette is in the sitting room, Mademoiselle,” Charles said and led her towards the familiar door down the hall.

Belle hardly needed to be led about the house anymore, having been coming twice a week for six months now, but Belle understood that it was part of a butler’s duty to lead about guests. Charles even opened doors for her, which made Belle feel very grand indeed. Perhaps a little uncomfortable, but for only two days a week Belle learned to enjoy the discomfort of such grandness.

“Bonjour, Belle!” she heard just before a tiny pair of arms wrapped themselves forcefully around Belle’s waist.

“Oomph! Bonjour, Collette,” Belle replied to the tiny blond girl clinging to her. “Have you been keeping up with your spelling as I told you?”

“Mostly,” the girl said and released Belle to give her a sheepish grin. “Gustave made me do more than I wanted to.”

“Well, I’m glad you have a brother who will look out for you like that,” Belle remarked. “Gather your things and we’ll get started.”

Collette rushed to do what Belle asked and Belle couldn’t help but smile. Belle adored all the children she taught, but as the only girl, Collette had a special place in Belle’s heart.

It was much harder than Belle had expected to teach these children their letters and numbers, but she enjoyed seeing their pleasure when they read a word for the first time or solved a new equation. Belle still longed for her adventures, but she understood why her mother had loved this work so much.

The hardest part was getting them to settle down while she was there, especially the pair of young brothers. They were great fun and Belle loved their playfulness, but it was a bit tiresome when they wouldn’t sit for their lessons. Collette was much more attentive, at least most of the time, and did not take up so much of Belle’s energy which was a blessing on such a hot day.

She and Collette went through the lesson Belle had planned, covering spelling, mathematics, and geography over the course of a few hours. Collette was improving greatly and Belle was proud of her progress.

“You’re doing so well, Collette,” Belle praised as their session came to a close. “Soon you’ll grow too smart for me.”

“I doubt that very much. You’re the most intelligent person I know,” a voice came from the doorway. Belle and Collette both looked up to see Collette’s brother Gustave leaning against the doorframe.

“Bonjour, Gustave,” Belle said as steadily as she could. She always felt so odd whenever Gustave was nearby, as if her stomach was trying to tie itself in knots.

“My mother wanted me to give this to you,” he said and walked across the room to sit in the chair beside her, handing her an envelope while Belle tried her hardest not to blush. “It’s your wages for this week. And she also wanted me to tell you that you’re doing a wonderful job. Almost as good as your mother did with me,” he added with a wink.

“T-thank you,” she stammered as she took the envelop from his hands. Their fingers brushed and Belle felt her cheeks burn.

“What’s wrong with your face, Belle?” Collette asked innocently, drawing Belle abruptly out of the power of Gustave’s green eyes. Belle laughed easily and gently pulled at one of Collette’s blond curls.

“Nothing, ma petite. Be sure to practice what we’ve done until I come back next week,” Belle said and rose to make a hasty retreat for the door.

“Wait!” she heard Gustave called to her. Belle paused, almost at the door. She was terrified of staying, not wanting to embarrass herself further, but she let his voice stop her all the same. She watched as he drew level with her and struggled to keep herself from blushing again under his gaze.

“I was wondering if I could perhaps call on you some time,” he said as he stood rather too close to her. His words were confident which intimidated Belle and that smile that played on his lips sent doubt invading her mind.

“I...” she started, her hands shaking so much she nearly dropped her books. Was Gustave truly asking to call on her outside of her visits to his sister? Yes, she had been caught up in his beautiful green eyes and attentive nature, but now that she was confronted with the reality of having this boy call on her, it was something different altogether.

“No thank you,” she said quickly and fled the house without another word.

She made her way as quickly as she could managed down the busy streets of Paris and towards the home of the only person she thought she could discuss this with.

“You said no?” Clarice cried in clear disbelief. Belle had arrived at her door, gasping from her flight through the city, and relayed the entire story to her in a panic.

“I was scared,” Belle admitted. “And besides, he barely even knows me beyond hello and goodbye. Why on earth would he want to court me?”

“Because he wants to get to know you. And because you’re beautiful, of course,” Clarice replied quickly as if it should have been obvious.

Belle shook her head, dismissing her friend’s words. Papa often told her she was beautiful, in his kind and caring way, and when she was a small child doting friends of the family would tell her what a lovely young woman she would grow up to be. But Belle never really considered her own appearance beyond setting her hair in order and other basic hygiene routines. And she certainly didn’t consider her alleged beauty to be any serious reason to want to court her.

“Well, you’re just going to have to get over that, aren’t you?” Clarice said when Belle confessed this all to her. “I’m surprised this is the first man to ask you, to be honest. You’ll have lost more beaus begging for your heart before too long.”

“But I don’t want them,” Belle protested.

“Nonsense, what girl doesn’t want boys chasing after her?”

“Me,” Belle replied hotly. “I just want to make enough money to go and see the world. You’re the one who’s chasing beaus, not me.”

“Well, I am sixteen now. Why not? And you’ll be sixteen soon, too. Remember, if you don’t find someone in the next few years people will call you an old maid!”

“There are worse things,” Belle muttered. In her opinion, sixteen was far too young to be in danger of becoming an old maid. Men got to marry whenever they wanted, why couldn’t it be the same for girls?

“Listen, if you don’t want Gustave that’s one thing, but don’t dismiss the whole institution,” Clarice went on and Belle thought she heard a note of desperation in her friend’s voice.

“Clarice, do you have something to tell me?” Belle asked innocently. With a sudden wide grin, Clarice held up her left hand to display a simple golden band on her third finger.

“Thomas and I are engaged!” she exclaimed.

“Oh,” Belle started quietly. “Oh!” she amended and hugged Clarice as enthusiastically as she could manage. “I’m so happy for you!”

“Are you? After everything you just said, are you really happy for me?”

“Of course I am,” Belle insisted. “Just because I’m a coward doesn’t mean I can’t be happy for you.”

And for the first time in Belle’s memory, Belle lied to Clarice. She was only just sixteen, after all, and she and Thomas had known each other for only six months. But Clarice seemed so very happy, and that’s all that really mattered.

“I’ll need your help, of course,” Clarice continued and it was clear that Belle’s problems were forgotten in favor of Clarice’s imminent wedding.

_____

“What’s wrong, my Belle?” she heard Papa ask that evening. She had been distracted, not even able to read, and she nearly let the dinner burn which she hadn’t done in a number of years.

“Nothing, Papa,” she insisted. She didn’t want to worry him, not with his work wearing on him more and more each day.

“Come now, if you can’t tell your Papa, who can you tell?” he pressed gently, coming to sit beside her on the worn out sofa.

Belle looked at her father, so willing to help and so clearly concerned for her. He was right: if she couldn’t talk to him, then there was no one else. Not now that Clarice was growing up faster and much differently than Belle was.

So she related the whole story to her father. She hadn’t intended to talk about Gustave, too, but it all spilled past her lips as she unburdened her worries. Why did Gustave want to court her? Was it really only because she was beautiful as Clarice said? And how could Clarice get married after all their talks of traveling the world? It wasn’t right that she should be getting marries so soon...On and on she went until she was quite out of breath. Papa listened to her quietly, allowing her to say all that she needed to. When she was through, Papa paused a moment before taking her hand and patting it lovingly.

“You’re certainly growing up, aren’t. you?” he said, almost as if to himself. “I wish your mother was here to help with all this, but since it’s just me, we’ll have to make do.” He took a breath and smiled at her. “You and Clarice have been friends for a long time, and your worlds are changing. You two could very well always be friends, but it seems like Clarice is finding a new path for herself.”

“But she said that I’ll be an old maid soon,” Belle practically wailed. It shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it was, but she couldn’t help herself. The few old maids she found in her stories were lonely creatures who could only long for a happiness they could never have. What if she ended up like them?

“Nonsense,” Papa said so sternly that Belle was taken aback. “You are fifteen years old, there’s plenty of time for all that. You hold out for love, my Belle, for as long as it takes. Don’t you ever settle for someone you don’t love just to keep from being an old maid. You hear me?”

“Yes, Papa,” Belle said, though she didn’t quite understand why her father was so seriously all of a sudden. “Is something wrong?”

“No, Belle. I just—I just don’t want you to marry the wrong man. I want you to be happy,” he said with a sigh and a smile. “You should do what you love and be with who you love, and the rest will fall into place.”

“Did it fall into place with you and Maman?” Belle asked, guessing that what he said came from experience.

“Eventually,” Papa chuckled. “We had our troubles, but once we both realized how much we loved each other, nothing else mattered.”

“What kind of troubles?”

“Nothing serious. I remember once there was a dance that everyone wanted to go to, and this is before I even began courting your mother, though I very much wanted to. Well, we were talking one day and I asked if anyone had asked her to the dance yet. And she said no, that she was waiting for someone special to ask her. And I said ‘oh’ and walked away, and neither of us went to the dance!” he laughed, his face lightening.

“Oh, Papa,” Belle giggled.

“It wasn’t until we were talking about it years later that I understood that she had wanted me to ask her. Really, it’s a wonder that we got together at all.” His laughter faded but his eyes stayed bright with the memory. “Now, about this Gustave,” he continued. “It might be best to apologize for running out on him when you see him next. That’ll keep your work with Collette from becoming awkward.”

“So you don’t think I should have said yes?”

“Well, aside from the fact that I’m not ready for you to be keeping a beau, if you don’t want him to court you then that’s the end of it,” Papa replied unsteadily.

Belle could see that he was becoming uncomfortable with the topic at hand, so she leaned forward to kiss his cheek, thanked him for his help, and finished serving dinner. Her mind was not quite at ease yet, but she felt better knowing that she was following her heart. Still, she knew it wouldn’t be easy to return to Collette’s home and make amends with Gustave. She sighed heavily and forced her mind to focus on less bothersome things.


	13. Chapter 13

The weeks passed despite Beast’s desperate wishes for time to stop. Three years and six months remained before the rose would start to wilt. Soon he would be marking off the weeks, then mere days, and he was no closer to ending the enchantment than he was when it first came upon him. The rose still stood full and beautiful, but all too soon it would start to shed its petals. Day by day he grew more and more convinced he would be doomed to remain in that beastly form.

He was seventeen; if he were human, he would have been a man, as strong and handsome as one of his station should be. He might have even had a fiancee by now. But as this monster, he had nothing but fur and fangs and a strength someone with his temper should not have access to.

He had been consoling that foul mood running through the forest to battle any animal he came across, with some success. After his success over a year ago with the lone wolf, he found he wanted that feeling of euphoria, of satisfaction again. It didn’t help him feel any less like a Beast, quite the opposite in fact, but it did keep him from feeling too claustrophobic and cooled his temper enough to keep him from doing anything he might regret more, like harming his servants.

They were so fragile, and he was too strong. It might be partially their fault this curse came up on them all, but he knew he would never forgive himself if one of them came to harm because of his bouts of rage. And so the wolves and small bears of the forest suffered instead.

It wasn’t as though he provoked those battles, he reasoned when he conscience told him killing these animals was wrong. The deer and boar he hunted for food, but he didn’t eat the predators he killed. He merely happened upon them, though he supposed they attacked because he was infringing on their territory. Either way, he was getting stronger, quicker, and better at winning his battles.

During the high summer months of his seventeenth year, Beast spent most of his time in the forest doing battle with these dangerous animals that attacked him first. Part of him worried that doing this might make him succumb to the side of the Beast more quickly, but spending the countless house in the castle that he once wandered as a prince with a family and human company was becoming increasingly painful. So he continued hunting and wandering about until the forest he had once been so afraid of as a boy became as familiar to him as the halls of his castle.

While taking one of his aimless wanderings one hot summer’s afternoon, he heard the familiar growl of a bear echo quite nearby him. Itching for something to do, Beast went to put himself in its path. He had tackled bears before; they only had the small sort in this area, small compared to him at least.

But as he rounded the trunk of a great oak, he came across a very different sort of bear indeed.

This creature was huge, twice the size of the ones he was used to, about as big as himself. If he thought he had anything much to live for, Beast might have turned tail and fled. But nothing came to mind that should keep him from doing something so reckless, so he gathered himself up and pounced towards the bear.

It was fast, despite its size, and sent Beast sprawling to the ground before he could get a good swing in. But Beast was used to being batted about now and it took him only a moment to recover from the blow.

He came back at the animal with a fierce swipe of his own, cutting into the bear’s flesh with his claws. The bear roared and attacked Beast with a new fury, throwing all its weight towards him.

Beast wasn’t sure how long the fight lasted, it was difficult to judge time when he was lost in the heat of the battle, when his mind was furthest from his own misery. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, surging power through him, making him feel invincible. He was winning, that was certain, and he decided to draw out the fight a little longer.

Beast danced around the bear, swiping at him, making the bear roar in frustration when it couldn’t land its blows. He grinned, enjoying his sport, but the bear finally learned to predict his actions. The bear caught him full in the chest, knocking the wind out of his lungs for a terrifying moment.

The bear pounced on him while he fought to put air back into his lungs, but Beast managed to throw it off and regain his footing at last.

Having enough of this game, Beast roared and barreled forward, pinning the bear against a thick tree. It swiped at him again, but he doged the attack, reaching forward to slam it against the tree. That stunned it, and before it could recover Beast beat it again and again against the tree until its paws were still and its head lolled.

Beast stepped back and threw back his head in a roar of triumph as the bear collapsed at his feet.

He took a few steps back from the fallen creature and caught his breath. He was bleeding a bit from a few scratches at his chest and he ached from bruises that were hidden by his fur, but it didn’t matter. He had beaten a bear, his biggest conquest ever. He was no longer a whimpering child cowering at a small knife slice, he was a predator, a Beast, and this forest belonged to him.

But what about that which lay beyond the forest? Those farmlands and villages belonged to him by right, and they had all but forgotten their Master.

He had been cut off from the world after his father left, after his mother and sister died. The world seemed to have forgotten that he still existed. Perhaps it was time he reminded them.

In the back of his mind, he knew how dangerous his plan was. He was about to draw attention to himself in the biggest way possible, solely for the sake of his pride, but it was a risk he was ready to take if only for the satisfaction of frightening a few heartless villagers.

Filled now with determination, Beast ran through the trees to the east where the main road, now largely grown over, led to the nearest village. He did not directly follow the road, of course, but several feet to the side of it, hidden in the line of trees should he come upon any unfortunate travelers.

Soon the trees thinned as he approached the village and he stopped in the last of the shadows. Before him lay a bit of a field before a series of houses cropped up, a cobblestone road lying neatly in the middle of it all. Deciding it would be exceedingly foolish to stride right into the middle of the village, Beast instead skulked around until he saw three men by a cottage just beyond the outskirts. They appeared to be digging a well, their backs to the woods he hid in.

Beast slunk forward towards them, still out of sight in the shadows. He wouldn’t hurt them, not much anyway, but he grinned as he thought about the stories about him they might tell that night.

He emerged from the shadows, crouched low and unnoticed until he was yards away, the stench of their sweat sharp in his nose, when a sound off to his right drew his attention.

Curiosity made him change course, away from the men and towards the sound which he realized was someone—a woman—singing. It was oddly familiar; he couldn’t place the tune, he could only just grasp at the memory of having something similar sung to him, long ago in another life. It made him remember the feel of a mother’s dress against his cheek, a gentle arm around his shoulders.

Beast crept forwards, ears perked up, and at last saw the source of the tune. A woman was sitting on the bank of a river by a stone bridge, her feet trailing in the water and a young boy sitting beside her, his head in her lap. He watched the scene of peace and his chest began to ache.

It was a strange feeling, like something had just struck him in the chest, not unlike having the wind knocked out of him as the bear had done earlier.

The memory of a mother who loved him, of having such affection shown to him, seemed to belong to another life, of a world long lost to him now. Had that really been part of him, this memory? It seemed impossible to him now, a Beast who had just killed a bear and hunted in the forest for his food, but the ache in his chest assured him it was true.

It overwhelmed him and made him feel the burn of shame. He had never been ashamed of anything in his memory, but he was ashamed of this, of what his mother would think of what he was becoming. His mother was so gentle, so kind, his memories of her were of peace and laughter. She would hate what he had done.

As quietly as a shadow, he slunk back to the cover of the trees. Once he was safely away from the humans, he turned and ran in earnest back to his castle, back to the only domain that was left to him now, the only domain he truly had any claim to.

He paused as he reached its gates, looking up at its familiar towers. The castle had been his mother’s favorite among all their homes, the sanctuary she and her children had while her husband conducted business in the city, the castle she had died in.

Beast burst through the front doors and shut them against the humanity that hurt him so, that made him remember. This was the castle of a Beast now; there was no room for so human a thought as a mother singing to her son.

He went to seek solace in his rooms, but for the first time since the enchantment befell him he found no comfort in it. In frustration, he returned downstairs and found himself seeking the comfort of the sitting room he retreated to after the traveler attacked him years ago. It was near the entrance hall, but it was comfortable with its large fireplace and the armchair with the tall back that actually fit his massive form.

He sat heavily in that armchair and gazed into the dancing flames that stood before him, allowing his mind to wander as it would, so long as it stayed away from thoughts of his mother and his human past.

“Master?” he heard some minutes later. He did not look at the speaker, knowing it was Mrs. Potts coming to talk with him as she often tried to when he returned in a foul mood. “Master, is everything all right?” He heard her hop closer but still did not acknowledge her. “Oh, goodness! You’re hurt!”

“It’s nothing,” he grunted, wiping at the scratches across his chest he had forgotten about.

“Are you comfortable here, Master?” she asked hesitantly and Beast heard what she was truly saying. Why was he down here instead of the West Wing?

“Yes,” he said but offered no explanation.

“Very well,” she replied and began to hop out.

“I’ll be needing something for dinner tonight,” he added just before she left the room. He hadn’t eaten that day, having failed to find something in the forest, and he was loathe to return. He never wanted to return to the forest again, not to hunt, not to kill, not to do any of it.

“Really?”

“Yes. We do have food here, don’t we?” he snapped.

“Yes, of course. But does that mean you won’t be hunting any longer?”

“I’m tired of it,” he grunted but did not elaborate.

He distinctly heard Mrs. Potts sigh and his sharp ears picked up the words ‘thank goodness’ as she hopped away. Whenever she got the chance, Mrs. Potts would ask him to stop hunting, to stop seeking fights with the other animals, but he never heeded her. If he was lucky, he would be able to let her think it was her countless lectures that led him to stop.

He didn’t have long to wait, but even so he grew impatient for his meal as his stomach began to grumble. It was surprising that he even had an appetite after the day’s misadventures, but when a tray wheeled into the room of his own accord, Beast’s mouth watered at the smell.

In his hunger, he shoveled the food into his jaws with his massive paws, hardly tasting it as he devoured the meal he had been provided. He had forgotten how wonderful the warmth of cooked meat was. But he realized as he claws scraped the china plate he ate from how unsuited he was to such an arrangement.

“Master?” Mrs. Potts asked and he nearly jumped and a little embarrassed now of the mess he had made of himself. He sat back in his chair with a huff and refused to acknowledge the mess he made.

“What?” he growled, daring her to comment on his mess.

“Can I get you any more?” she asked but he noticed her hesitation and guessed what she had just stopped herself from saying.

“Yes.” She hopped away and he cleaned his plate, ignoring the silverware that lay unused on the tray.

Another tray was presented to him, quickly followed by Mrs. Potts, Lumiere, and Cogsworth. He was eager to gorge himself, but he found that the sight of another set of silverware enraged him. Couldn’t they see that he had no way to manage such things?

“What’s this?” he demanded, motioning to the tray. He was tempted to overturn it in his rage, but he wanted the food more.

“What is what, Master?” Lumiere asked, waving his flaming arms as he spoke.

“You expect me to be able to use these?” he bellowed, picking up the silverware and tossing them at the door.

“I’m s-sorry, Master,” Cogsworth stammered and shooed the silverware out the door. “Perhaps I can get you something else?”

“No. Leave me!” he growled and heard them clatter their way out the door. “And don’t dare bring me anything like that again!” he hollered after them.

He hoped they realized he meant the silverware that was built for a man’s hands and not the food itself, for he did not want to give up such delicious meals. He had forgotten how much simpler it was to have his meals made for him, how delicious warm food was. But he would rather not be reminded of how unsuited his paws were to the tools of a human.

Alone again, he gnawed at the meat as he reflected angrily on the day’s events. The forest could no longer be called his sanctuary, not now that he had made such a fool of himself by attacking animals he had no right to harm. But the castle was a torment to him as well, a reminder of all that he had lost even after nearly eight years under the curse. The sitting room he was in now held no specific memories for him, though.

His father had used another sitting room upstairs, he remembered, allowing Beast to sit in the one he was in now without anger. But his mind betrayed him by fixating on the thought of his father.

He had spent his human childhood peering around corners to see his father run the province. He often told himself that when he came of age his father would take more interest in him, that they could run the province together. But then illness came to the castle and changed all of that.

Along with several of the servants including Mrs. Potts’ husband, the illness had taken his mother and six year old sister. He was nine years old, hardly old enough to understand what had happened, and sought comfort from his father. He found no solace or answers from him though, and shortly after his mother and sister were buried, his father went to their house in the city, leaving his son behind.

At first he had been naive enough to believe his father would send for him, but months passed without a word and he realized he was doomed to spend his life alone.

He had been a fool to think attacking the villagers would bring him any sense of justice for what they had done to him, what his father had done to him. He toyed for a moment with the idea of asking the mirror to show him his father, to give him the image of the man who had abandoned him, but he had enough heartache for one day. So instead he merely sat and watched the flames. His place was here in the castle, the only place he could truly call home.

He had been foolish to try and keep the forest for himself. He was no mindless wild animal, he was a Beast, an animal with the intelligence, if not the soul, of a human. The forest was not his, nor were the villages. He had only this dark castle to command. As for the enchantment, what real hope did he have to break it? He would have to be content to live as a Beast till the end of his days if that’s what was to happen, but he would live out his cursed days in the assured sovereignty of his own castle.

He would live out his lonely, miserable, cursed life within the castle walls and swore to protect his last sanctuary at all costs.


	14. Chapter 14

Belle piled her books quickly as Collette skipped out of the room after their lesson. So far she had managed to avoid Gustave since the previous week, but she was dreading their inevitable meeting. Papa was right that she apologize, but agreeing with it and doing it were two entirely seperate things.

She had nearly made it to the door, but his voice stopped her just before she could escape.

“Belle?” he called.

For a moment, Belle seriously considered slipping out the door without a word, but she knew that would only make things worse, so she took a steadying breath and turned to face him. As he stepped towards her, she clutched her books tightly to her chest.

“I’m sorry,” she said just as he started with “I apologize.”

They both stopped when they realized the other was speaking. After an awkward pause, she giggled and he chuckled behind his hand.

“I wanted to apologize for the other day,” he continued before she could try to speak again. “I realize it was a bit sudden, that I had hardly given you a sign before that. You have to known how foolish I felt afterwards.”

“Foolish?” Did he feel foolish for asking to court her because of the way he asked, or because he regretted asking her?

“For acting so quickly. I didn’t mean to surprise or offend you, I just wanted to get to know you better,” he added and Belle found herself speechless. She was overwhelmed by what seemed to be sincere honesty and the realization that Gustave did not want to court her simply because of her beauty as Clarice had said.

“I’m sorry I said no before,” Belle admitted, looking at her shoes. She didn’t realize he had been agonizing over his question as much as she had been, but she wasn’t sure about being the center of such admiration.

“Does that mean you’re changing your mind?” he asked and Belle could hear the hopeful note in his voice.

“I—I suppose,” she said hesitantly and her heard pounded so hard in her chest she was sure he could hear it. “I should go. Goodbye!” she said and turned to flee.

Her head was spinning with what just happened. Did she really just give Gustave permission to court her?

“Belle!” he called as she fled half-blind down the street. She stopped and turned so quickly she nearly lost her balance. Gustave was standing on the stairs in front of the door, leaning over the rail to call to her.

“I’ll see you soon!” he promised and waved at her with a large grin wide across his face. Belle waved in return, keeping her wildly beating heart from bursting from her chest by holding her books in front of it. It seemed impossible that, after a full week of worrying over what she would say to Gustave, she ended up agreeing to have Gustave court her after all. Was it right that she change her mind like that? What would Papa say?

Instantly, she felt the bubble of excitement that had been welling in her chest deflate. What would Papa say? He wanted her to wait for someone she truly loved, but Belle wasn’t sure she loved Gustave. Well, he hadn’t asked her to marry him; it was only a courtship, a beginning.

She walked into the small apartment and deposited her things on the small table by the door, taking a deep breath as she tried to relax from her day.

Over the years, she and her father had made quite a cozy home for themselves out of the dingy place they first moved into. Papa had made that small table by the door, repaired the kitchen table, and made a bed for himself in the corner he had insisted on. She had learned to sew and made the curtain that creating his bed space, fashioned a few pillows, and even repaired a few holes in the couch upholstery. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the only home she had.

Papa was home, which was unsual. He worked such long hours since Maman passed, his job as a carpenter wearing on him. It hurt her to see the light in her father’s eyes grow dimmer by the day as his job took the joy from his heart. She knew he didn’t dislike building things, fixing things, but the man he worked for was a difficult man who drove his workers hard. That day appeared no different; Papa was sitting in his usual chair with his head in his hands. He didn’t even look up when she came in.

“Papa?” she called again when he did not answer. This time he sat up to look at her and, though he tried to smile, Belle could see that something was wrong.

“What is it, Papa?” she asked, moving to kneel by his chair and took his hand.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news, my Belle,” he said, patting her hand. “We’re going to have to move again.”

“Move? But why?”

“I haven’t been getting my wages as I should be. I think you’ve guessed some time ago that I owed this man some money that I took to start our life here. A large portion of what I made went to paying that back. I’m free now of that debt, but then my wages were cut. All of ours were, that work for Mr. Potter. I’ve been behind on rent here and...well, we’re going to have to leave the city.”

“Leave the city?” she repeated in horror. “I don’t understand. Why haven’t you been getting paid?”

“Because Mr. Potter is a fiend,” Papa said with a surprising amount of venom. “I shouldn’t have gotten mixed up with him in the first place, but the fact is I have, and this is what it’s come to. The other men who work for him, we all tried to confront him about our fair wage, but he dismissed us outright and hired new men. I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to leave Paris.”

“But I have some money,” she offered quickly. She was saving that money for her travels, but if it would keep them from having to uproot themselves again, she would gladly give it up. “Take it, Papa. Please.”

“Thank you, my sweet girl. But I’m afraid it wouldn’t be enough.”

“Why not?” she asked desperately. “Maman was able to pay for that nice apartment as a tutor when I was little, why can’t I do the same?”

“Hush, my Belle. You’re only a child still. Your Maman was paid for her experience, and worked with more children. This is not your fault,” he continued, his soft voice becoming more stern. “Don’t think for a moment that this is your lacking, all right?”

“Yes, Papa,” she replied and sat back on her heels to absorb the implications of this news. “Why do we have to leave the city, though?”

“There’s no place here I can afford any longer. It’s either we move, or we live on the streets, and I would rather die than see that happen to you.

“Besides,” he continued a little more brightly, “There’s probably more work out in the country, good work where a man might make a living for himself. Perhaps I could even start on my inventions again.”

Belle raised her head as she heard the careful hopefulness in her father’s voice. She knew he missed creating his inventions; she imagined it would be a bit like having to give up her reading. This move would make her father happy, she realized, and he had been so unhappy for so long. But what about her life here? What about Clarice? And Gustave?

“Probably?” she picked out the word. “We’re to leave the city with nothing but a possibility?”

“Think of it as an adventure,” he replied. “We’ll go on a...a quest to find a new home.” Belle knew her father was trying to sway her into agreeing, but she couldn’t. Not now that he life had just started taking a new turn.

“No,” she said defiantly, standing up quickly. “I don’t want to leave! Why can’t you just find another job here?”

Without giving him time to respond, Belle ran to her room before Papa could see her tears. Once her door was safely latched behind her, Belle collapsed onto her bed and began sobbing.

Why did this have to happen of all days? Clarice was about to have her wedding. Gustave was going to court her. What if he was the one she was meant to be with? She would be torn away from her chance at a love like the one her parents had. She couldn’t be sure of anything, of course, but now she would be denied the chance to know.

And what kind of adventures could she hope to have out in the country? If she was going to have an adventure, as Papa said, the city provided people and carriages and all sorts of opportunities. What hope of adventures did she have amongst chickens and cows?

She knew it wasn’t Papa’s fault, that he would prevent it if he could, but all she could do was sob bitterly into her pillow and hope it was a bad dream.

_____

When she grew calm at last, she lay on her bed and felt shame overcome her. She shouldn’t have spoken to her father like that. He had tried his best to provide a good life for them; there simply was no other choice. It wasn’t his fault.

A soft knock on the door prompted her to sit up quickly and dry her eyes.

“Come in,” she said and watched as Papa opened the door a few inches to peer inside before stepping in fully.

“I’m sorry, Papa,” she said as soon as he entered. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it, not really.”

“Oh, my Belle,” he sighed and came to sit on the bed beside her. “I know this is hard for you. I’ve already had to uproot you once. I had hoped I wouldn’t have to do it again. I know you don’t want to leave Clarice.”

“It’s not just that,” she admitted and took a steadying breath. “I gave Gustave permission to court me today.”

“Ah, I see,” Papa said and was silent for a moment. “Do you love him?”

“I don’t know. I had hoped to have the time to find out. Perhaps—perhaps it’s not meant to be. I mean, since this is happening so soon after he...after I agreed to it.”

She was trying so hard to be understanding, but she kept seeing Gustave’s green eyes in her mind.

“I know you’re trying to be brave, Belle. You have no idea how much I appreciate you trying. But unless he wants to marry you and keep you here, I have to take you away.”

Belle was shocked at her father’s suggestion. She and Gustave barely even knew each other, but her father was willing to let her decide between him and this man he had never met.

She tried to imagine what a life with Gustave would be like: waiting for his long hours as a lawyer to be done so that she might spend time with him, playing with the children she bore for him, sitting by the fire in their old age. It was a pleasant picture all things considered, he seemed a good man, after all, but as she tried to place Gustave beside her in these fantasies, she found his image eluded her. She did not want such things yet, and she wasn’t sure she wanted them with Gustave.

“No, Papa. I won’t marry Gustave, not even if he asks me. I want to stay with you. We’ve got to stick together, no matter what.” She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw her father’s eyes fill with tears as he pulled her into a fierce embrace.

“You are so much like your mother. I promise we’ll find those adventures of yours, and perhaps you’ll even find someone you do want to marry out in the country.”

“We’ll see,” she said with a slightly forced giggle. “When do we have to leave?”

“Well, we have to stay for Clarice’s wedding of course, which is next week, right?” Belle nodded. “So let’s say a few days after that. And...” he paused and Belle couldn’t imagine how much more bad news she could take.

“And?” she pressed.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you if I could borrow your savings from you. We’re going to have to buy a wagon and a horse to leave the city with. Getting settled in a house will take a lot, too, but I think I can earn some on the way. Belle, you know I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t have to.”

Belle watched as her father’s face turned red and he stared at the fraying quilt between them. She realized how much of his pride it had cost him to ask his daughter for money, but they were in this together. She would do whatever it would take to see them through it.

“Of course, Papa,” she said. What was the money to her now that she would be so far from civilization, from the travels and adventures she had been saving for?

She fetched the funds from its hiding place between the pages of her mother’s fairy tale book and gave it all willingly to her father. He took it more hesitantly, his hands shaking slightly as he did.

“Now, how about dinner?” she said with all the merriment she could muster.


	15. Chapter 15

Belle rolled over in bed as the morning arrived, exhausted and miserable after tossing and turning most of the night. She had used up an entire candle trying to disappear into one of her books in an effort to keep her mind off moving away from everything she knew and loved. Despite that, she managed only a few stolen minutes until it was time to get ready for the day. She shuffled out of her room in search of the solace of warm tea only to find her father already sitting at the small kitchen table.

“Are you all right, Papa?” she asked, startled to find him there so early. He looked up at her voice and attempted to smile, but Belle could see by his bloodshot eyes that he had slept even less than she had.

“I’m fine, Belle.”

“I know you’re not. It was wrong what Mr. Potter did to you, but I’m sure we’ll find a good life out in the country.”

“You’re so sweet, my dear,” he said taking her hand and drawing her down to the nearest chair. “Your mother would be so proud of you.”

“What’s wrong?” she begged him, seeing the sorrow deep in his eyes.

“I’m just a bit sad about leaving, that’s all,” he confessed at last. “You were born in this city, your mother is buried here. The most important days of my life have been spent here.”

It was in that moment that Belle realized how much he had truly loved her mother. It was a staggering thing to picture someone loving another so much that they considered the best days of their life to be when they were together. The idea of it faded further the picture of she and Gustave together.

“I was hoping I could go see Clarice today and help her with her wedding preparations,” she said, getting up to make breakfast for them both, kissing her father’s cheek as she got up.

“What do her parents think about her getting married so young?”

“Lots of girls marry when they’re sixteen.”

“Not as many what used to. And I’m sure there’ll be less and less going forward.”

Belle nodded her agreement and continued: “But her parents don’t mind it. He’s apprentice to a jeweler, so he’s got good prospects.“

“He’s got an artist’s eye, eh?”

“Seems that way. He made the rings they’re going to wear, they’re quite beautiful.”

“Well, just tell me where to be and when. I’d like to see the wedding if she’ll have me there.”

“Of course you’re invited, Papa,” she almost laughed. “Goodness knows you’ve treated her like another daughter.”

“That’s true enough,” he agreed with a chuckle and they moved on to talk of lesser things.

“You’re what?” Clarice demanded when Belle arrived at her house and explained what happened. “You can’t move to the country. I’ll never see you again!”

“We don’t know that,” Belle said, though she knew Clarice was probably right. She and Papa would be too far for casual visits, and once Clarice inevitably started having children, she wouldn’t want to travel.

“Oh, Belle,” Clarice sighed and sat on a sofa strewn with ribbons and paper cuttings left from her wedding preparations, pulling Belle down beside her. “You know I don’t want you to leave. You’re my best friend. But all you’ve talked about as long as I’ve known you was going on some grand adventures like the ones we used to read about. Why can’t this be what you’ve been waiting for?”

“Because cows don’t know how to sail ships,” Belle retorted, making Clarice smirk. “You know nothing happens out there. People leave the country to get somewhere else more interesting.”

“Just give it a chance. If I thought cows wore jewelry, I might try to convince Thomas to move to the country too and start his own business. Clean air, plenty of space, and I’m sure there will be a forest or two to explore. You never know what could happen.”

Belle smiled at her friend; she was trying so hard to make her feel better, and she was grateful for it, even if it didn’t work. Deciding to let her have this one, since it was unlikely to ever see each other again, Belle smiled in agreement.

“There’s something else, too,” Belle admitted.

Clarice raised one questioning eyebrow and Belle told her about Gustave and the predicament she now found herself in.

“You have a beau and you didn’t tell me?” Clarice shrieked when Belle was through.

“It only just happened. What do I tell him now that I’m leaving?”

“Are you sure marriage is out of the question?” Clarice asked and Belle was nodding before she even finished her sentence.

“Definitely.”

“Then I would just tell him the truth. You didn’t know about this when you agreed to let him court you. If he’s as nice as you say, he’ll understand. Even if he doesn’t, you’ll never have to see him again.”

“Let’s go to the bookstore,” Belle suggested, changing the subject. “One more time before I have to leave.”

“You’re staying for my wedding, aren’t you?”

“Of course we are, but you’ll be busy with that—it is that day after tomorrow, after all—and I have a lot of packing to do. And I have to tell the families I tutor I’ll be leaving,” she added. In all the hubbub, she had completely forgotten about telling the other families, saying goodbye to the other children she cared for.

“Let’s go,” Clarice said without another moment’s hesitation and Belle couldn’t help but smile.

They chatted easily on their way to the bookstore, arm in arm, as if nothing had changed. Together they searched the crooked shelves of Miss Sybil’s bookstore for a treasure to read together, Persephone the cat winding affectionately around their ankles as they wandered the stacks.

“Oh, look!” Clarice exclaimed and raised a book for Belle to see. “King Arthur! I haven’t read that in ages!”

“Me either. I love that one,” Belle agreed, taking the book to thumb through the pages.

“Let’s get it,” Clarice said and went straight to Miss Sybil to ask permission to borrow it. “Come on, Belle! While there’s still daylight!”

“I’ll be right there, I just want to say goodbye to Persephone,” Belle said and waited till Clarice left the shop.

“My bookworm is leaving me, eh?” Miss Sybil asked and Belle was touched by the sorrowful note in her crackled, hoarse voice.

“Yes. I’m going to miss you.”

“And my books,” Miss Sybil added with a knowing smile. “I hope there’s a bookstore out where you’re going.”

“Me, too,” Belle replied and felt her heart skip a beat. It had not even occurred to her that she might not have access to books in her new home. “How much would you ask for the book we’re borrowing?”

Miss Sybil eyed her for a moment or two before answering: “Eight denier.”

“Eight?” Belle repeated in disbelief. “That doesn’t seem like very much.”

“It’s an old book. The binding is nearly broken and the pages are bent. Eight denier,” the old bookkeeper replied matter-of-factly. Belle took the money from her purse concealed in the folds of her dress to pay for the book. She knew she and her father needed every scrap of money they had, but eight copper coins were a small price for a friend she would never see again.

“Thank you, Miss Sybil,” Belle said as plaintively as she could. It was poor return for all the stories this woman had allowed her access to over the years, all the dreams and adventures and exotic far-off places her books let Belle travel to. “Thank you for everything.”

“Goodbye, sweet girl. Take care of yourself,” Miss Sybil replied and patted Belle’s hand as she took the money for the book.

“Are you all set now?” Clarice asked impatiently as Belle met her on the street, closing the shop door behind her.

“I am. Let’s go,” she replied and took Clarice’s arm to walk towards the park one last time.

They sat under the shade of their favorite tree for the rest of the summer afternoon, taking turns reading chapters to each other as the sun made its way overhead. It was bliss for Belle to be able to spend such time with Clarice again, reading one of their favorite books as if nothing had changed between them. They were children again, having no cares or responsibilities but to finish the book before they had to be home for supper.

But, of course, their time in that blissful bubble had to end. As Belle closed the book on the last page, she couldn’t help but sigh, for Guenevere, for herself, for what was to come.

“I’ll return the book to Miss Sybil,” Clarice said, reaching her hand for it. “You don’t want to say goodbye twice. Besides, you have other things to do.”

“Oh, the book is yours,” Belle said. “I bought it while you were outside.”

“Don’t you want it?”

“No, I want you to have it. It’s our favorite story; I would like to think you’ll keep it and remember me sometimes,” Belle confessed, trying her best to keep her tears at bay.

“Oh, Belle. How could I forget you?” Clarice said and pulled her into a tight hug.

Belle returned the embrace with equal ferocity, clinging to her dearest friend as if she could keep herself in the city that was her home simply by holding on to her. It would not be the last embrace she would share with Clarice, she would see her one more time at her wedding, but it was the last time they would be together in the way they always had been, just two girls sharing a story.

“Now,” Belle said, sniffing and letting go of her friend at last. “I’ll see you the day after tomorrow. For your wedding,” she emphasized, making Clarice grin. “You’ll let me know if you need any more help?”

“Certainly not. You’ve got enough to do. Just be there on the day. You don’t—you don’t think we’re rushing it, do you?”

“It’s a bit faster than I would do things, but then again I probably won’t be doing it for some time, if at all,” Belle laughed. “Answer me this: do you love him?”

“So terribly much I feel I would burst with it.”

“Then I’d say it’s the perfect timing,” Clarice grinned and hugged her quickly one more time.

“See you day after tomorrow,” she said and hugged the book to her.

“See you then,” Belle promised and watched her go for a moment before turning back home herself. She had long day of goodbyes ahead of her, and she would need her rest to get through it.


	16. Chapter 16

Papa had used her money to buy a wagon and a young, strong horse to carry themselves and their belongings from the city, which he would collect the day they left. So all that was left for them to do was to begin packing.

Belle didn’t have much of a wardrobe to pack, just a couple second-hand dresses she had nearly outgrown. She would have to get new ones soon, but with what money she didn’t know. Her best dress she would wear to Clarice’s wedding the next day, but even that was looking quite shabby indeed.

She was excited at least that she wouldn’t have to give up any more of her books. It was years ago, but she still remembered the sting of having to get rid of so many of her friends the first time they had to move. But there was plenty of room in the wagon, so she was permitted to bring them. In fact, it was her first bit of good news since she had been told they were leaving the city.

Once she had finished packing her meager belongings into a battered suitcase and her books into a crate, she went to help Papa with the rest of the house. The furniture would stay, it was hardly worth keeping anyway, and it hadn’t been theirs in the first place. But everything else needed to be packed up and piled in heaps near the front door. Organized heaps, thanks to Belle, but it was still odd to see everything they owned reduced to a few meager piles.

Her mother’s trunk was among them, the trunk that contained all the things they were able to keep when they moved from the home she had died in. She hadn’t opened it since it was first packed; for all she knew, neither had Papa. It seemed easier to leave it closed, and now was not the time, not when there was too much heartache already.

“Looks like we’re ready to go,” Papa said as he added his toolbox to the pile and dusted his hands on his trousers. “I’ll bring the horse and wagon here first thing in the morning day after next, and then we’ll pack and be on our way by midmorning.”

“Will we be keeping the horse?” she asked.

“Mhm. He’ll be all ours. He’s a good, strong thing, too. There’ll be plenty for him to do out the country, I bet.”

“What’s his name?”

“I didn’t think to ask. If he doesn’t have one, I’m sure you can think of something for him.”

“I’d like that,” Belle replied, her spirits lifting a bit at the idea of an animal for them to name and take care of.

“Now, are there any odds and ends we have to take care of that I’m forgetting?”

“Nothing that I can think of here, but I should go tell the families I tutor. And Gustave,” she muttered to her toes.

“Be brave, my dear,” Papa said, taking hold of her shoulder gently and catching her eye. “I’m sorry to have to put you through this.”

“It’s not your fault,” she protested. “It will be fine, it’s just something I’d rather not do.”

“I understand. Best get it over with, though,” he replied sympathetically.

“I’ll be back before supper,” she promised and slowly left the apartment to perform her last few obligations.

She was not looking forward to any of it, telling the children, telling Gustave, but the latter seemed the hardest, and so she left it for last.

Belle visited the house of the two brothers first. Luke and Stephen were her youngest students and didn’t seem to quite understand what Belle meant when she talked to them, but her mother did.

“They were improving so much with you helping them,” their mother said. “It won’t be the same without you.”

Belle was flattered by this; to her it seemed as though she had hardly done anything for those two rather rambunctious boys, but their parents evidently noticed a difference.

Jean’s parents weren’t nearly as emotional about the loss of their son’s tutor. They had never been as involved with Jean’s life though, so this came as no surprise to Belle. She made sure to say a special farewell to Jean before she left, out of earshot of his parents. It hurt her heart to see a boy so ignored by those who should be surrounding him with love and support. She had done her best to help he realize he was worth so much more than a passing glance, and she reiterated those lessons to him again while she said her goodbyes.

Then it was time to make her visit to Collette’s house and make her most difficult goodbye of the three. Though it was coming near dinner time, she walked more slowly to this last house, not knowing quite what she would say, but dreading it all the same.

“Why, Mademoiselle Belle, I didn’t expect to see you today,” the kindly butler said as he let her in.

“It’s a bit unexpected for me as well,” she admitted. “Are Collette’s parents at home?”

“Yes, they are. What’s—I’ll announce you at once,” he said and led her to the doors of the drawing room. Belle smiled at Charles’ halted question and appreciated his concern.

“Belle!” Collette bounced into her arms when Charles admitted her into the drawing room.

“What a lovely surprise,” Collette’s mother said as she stood to greet her. “You should join us for dinner.”

“I’m afraid I can’t stay, my lady,” Belle said, forcing her eyes on her and not the young man sitting in the arm chair just behind. “I just came to tell you...”

Belle trailed off as her voice failed her. She cleared her throat and tried again.

“I came to tell you that Papa and I are moving to the country the day after tomorrow. I’m sorry it’s such short notice, but we didn’t know until recently.”

She dropped her eyes to her shoes, unable to meet anyone’s eye. She heard rather than saw someone stand so quickly their chair scraped against the floor, but no one came any nearer to her.

“Oh,” Collette’s mother said softly. “Well, we’ll be very sorry to see you go, of course. And I won’t embarrass you by asking the reason for it, but can’t anything be done?”

“No, my lady,” Belle all but whispered.

In the next moment she found herself in the arms of the woman, her cheek pressed against the silk of her gown.

“We will miss you, Belle,” she said and she pulled her tightly to her.

Belle felt Collette hug her waist and dislodged and arm to wrap around Collette’s shoulders. Tears began to prick at the corners of Belle’s eyes and she closed them tightly to keep them at bay. By the time Collette and her mother released her, Belle had regained her composure long enough to say her goodbyes to Collette, endure one more hug from the girl, and retreat to the foyer.

She bid Charles a heartfelt goodbye and closed the frontdoor behind her, hurrying down the steps and away from the house. She had gotten her point across, and that was that. It was better that way; they would avoid a more emotional goodbye and wouldn’t make a scene in front of everyone. It was better.

But she was stopped as a hand gently touched her arm. She turned to face the one who had halted her escape, though she knew who it was before she turned.

“Why the country?” he asked, his green eyes pleading with her. “Are you so determined to get away from me?”

“No! No, it’s not that. We don’t have the money to stay here anymore,” Belle said earnestly, horrified Gustave had even though such a thing. “I didn’t want to—None of this was to stay away from you.”

“Well, you did say no to me the first time,” he replied, but Belle could see he didn’t mean it. “Must you go? I was looking forward to the chance to get to know you better.”

“I was too, but I can’t leave my father.”

“Not even to marry me?” he offered.

Belle gasped at the abruptness of this question, of the informal, casual nature of it, and yet it was not quite unexpected.

“Would you really want to marry me when you hardly even know me?” Belle asked quietly.

“I don’t doubt you’re as sweet and kind as you seem. Collette loves you, after all. I would be glad to become your husband,” he replied with kind smile.

She did him the courtesy of considering him for a moment, of what sort of life they might have together. She had done so once before when Papa suggested the possibility of this moment, but she found she could not overturn her original decision. A life with Gustave would be comfortable and most likely quite nice, but to settle down now would end all of her dreams for good, even more so than moving to the country would. A wife was not meant to travel about; she was meant to see to her husband’s comfort and take care of his children. Or at least that’s what society dictated. And if that was all her life was to be, then she certainly wasn’t ready for it. And she could never choose to spend her life with someone she hardly knew.

“No, I can’t marry you,” she replied. Gustave was good and kind, that much was certain, but she knew she was following her heart.

“I—“ he started and paused. “I wish you’d change your mind, but it seems unlikely. But may I—“

“May you what?” she pressed, curious.

“May I kiss you before you go? I’ve been wanting to kiss you for weeks, and I should very much like to know how it feels.”

She could see him blush in the dimming sunlight, embarrased by his own daring question. Belle considered this for a moment, too. She had read so much about the power true love’s kiss had, of the importance of that particular embrace, but Gustave was not her true love. Besides, she was nearly sixteen, why shouldn’t the boy who wanted to court her steal one kiss?

“You may,” she assented and her heart began to pound as he touched her cheek and drew his face to hers.

She closed her eyes, terrified for a moment, and felt his lips press against hers. They were gentle and soft, his breath warm against her cheek, and it would be a lie to say that it was not a sweet embrace. But in the next moment it was over, and he straightened up.

“I hope you find a good life out there, Belle. I truly do,” he said, reaching the hand that had been touching her cheek to hold her hand. She closed her fingers around his and smiled.

“Thank you,” she said and met his beautiful green eyes one last time.

“Goodbye,” he replied and released her hand.

Belle turned and fled back to the apartment, the tears she had tried so hard to subdue finally spilling down her cheeks. She knew she had made the right decision, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to do it.

The door to the aparment was in front of her before she was ready. Hastily, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and tried to look as presentable as she could before she went inside.

“I’m back, Papa,” she called, but couldn’t see him. “Papa?”

His balding head appeared behind one of the piles of boxes, quickly followed by his wide grin as he emerged from behind the boxes. The sight provoked Belle into a smile of her own. This was a new opportunity for him, for them both, she supposed, and it was good to see Papa happy again after so many years of hardship.

“How did it go?” he asked and she felt her smile drop. Instead of replying, Belle bent to embrace her father, holding him tightly to her.

“I love you, Papa.”

“I love you, too,” he replied, but sounded confused. “He asked you to marry him, didn’t he?” Belle broke away to nod. “It doesn’t look like you said yes,” he said gently.

“I turned him down,” she confirmed.

“I hope it wasn’t because of me.”

“Oh, Papa. I have my own mind, you know,” she said with a bit of humor. “But I’d rather be with you than someone I barely know.”

“You’ll never know how much I appreciate that, my Belle. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re all I’ve got, you know,” he said and Belle was surprised to see tears in his eyes.

“You’re all I’ve got, too,” she reminded him with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Now, let’s see about dinner, and then you can show me where we’ll be headed after Clarice’s wedding tomorrow.”

Papa smiled and went to get the maps ready while she went to cook dinner. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Papa study the maps, turning them this way and that until he found an angle to suit him.

Perhaps moving to the country wouldn’t be so bad. It was true that the city was where Maman had been, but they still had her portrait and some small articles of hers. And Belle would miss Clarice terribly of course, but this would be new territory to explore with new people to meet. Perhaps they would move close to the coast where she might find a grand ship to sail off on when she was older.

But wherever she and Papa would end up, they would be together. As long as they had each other, that’s all that counted. No matter what.


	17. Chapter 17

Clarice’s wedding was as beautiful as it was simple. She wore a lovely new day dress of a pale pink that just set off the blush in her cheeks and held a bouquet of daisies, perfect for a summer wedding. Belle, along with Clarice’s mother, made sure that the church down the street from her home was made up with flowers and ribbons. It was pretty, and Clarice was beautiful.

Belle watched her friend walk up the aisle with her father, watched her say her vows to Thomas, who looked quite nice in a suit that was slightly too large for him, and witnessed their first kiss as man and wife. Clarice seemed so happy, but Thomas looked fit to burst with his evident joy. He nearly stumbled up the aisle because he was too busy staring at his wife to notice where he put his feet. Belle giggled silently, hiding it behind her hand, and her heart felt full. If her best friend had found someone to love her as much as Thomas so clearly did, then she was leaving her in good hands.

The celebration afterwards took place at the hall that was attached to the church. Belle had helped decorate that as well, and she thought it turned out quite nice. Clarice and Thomas would stay at Clarice’s parents’ house that night. In fact, she and Thomas would be staying there for a few months while they saved for their own place, but Thomas had just been promoted from apprentice to assistant jeweler, and they would be able to afford one soon enough.

“Congratulations!” Papa said as they went to greet the newly wedded couple.

“Thank you, Maurice,” Clarice said, embracing him. Thomas shook his hand when it was offered.

“You take care of this one, young man. She’s quite a special girl,” Papa said.

“I’ve no doubt about that, sir,” Thomas agreed, grinning.

“Come on, Papa, let’s let the next ones get their turn,” Belle suggested, guiding her father forward. “I’ll see you later,” she said to Clarice who nodded before turning her attention to their next well-wishers.

The festivities went on long into the night, people eating and laughing and enjoying the start of another’s new chapter. Belle made sure to spend plenty of time with Clarice, balancing it as best she was able with letting others admire her on her day. But she couldn’t help but count the hours until it would be over, until she had to leave her friend forever.

“Would you give your old father a dance then?” she heard Papa ask as she watched Clarice slip into a somewhat quiet corner with her new husband for a moment.

There was a nice large space in the center of the room for some dancing, someone had brought their fiddle, and there were already a few pairs taking full advantage of the merriment.

“Gladly,” she agreed, taking his hand. They had not danced together since they left their first apartment.

Papa had taught her all the dances he knew; she learned many of them standing on his toes while he went through the steps. At first she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to recall what he taught her, but as they started up with the music she found her feet remembered well enough.

She laughed as Papa led her in energetic circles with the other pairs of dancers, gladly joined in to the lively line dances that came next, and even found herself with a few other partners she did not know. All of them were great fun to dance with, and she was relieved when none of them sought her out afterwards. She wasn’t ready to catch anyone else’s eye.

“May I have the next one?” Thomas asked as the music started up again.

“With pleasure,” she agreed, finding herself unable to stop now that she had started. She had forgotten how much fun it was to let her body spin and flow with the music and, if she allowed herself, she was rather good at it.

“I’m sorry you’re going,” he said as they began the dance, a bit of a slower one that allowed her to catch her breath.

“Me too. I’ll miss Clarice, and I wish I knew you better,” she confessed.

“You should have been a sister to me. You still will be, I suppose. I don’t think distance will make any difference in your friendship, not really.”

“I hope not. I know it will be different, but I hope she knows that I’ll always be her friend, even if we go years and years without seeing each other.”

“I’m sure of it. If only because I know how much Clarice loves you,” he replied and she smiled at him.

“She’s lucky to have you. I won’t worry about her, not while she has you.”

“She’ll always have me, if I have my way,” he laughed.

“All right, enough of this now. Let me steal my friend back,” Clarice barged in when the song ended, grinning at them both and taking Belle’s hands. “Your father says you’ll have to leave soon since you’ve got an early morning and a long trip tomorrow, so I wanted to steal you away first,” she said and brought Belle into the corridor that linked the church and the hall.

It was quiet, the music and chatter muffled as if it belonged to another world.

“It was such a lovely wedding,” Belle sighed as she put off their last goodbyes.

“I liked it,” Clarice giggled. “And I’m glad you were here for it.”

“How could I have missed it?”

“And I’m glad you like him. I know it was a bit of a rush, but I know I’ll be happy.”

“And so you will be.”

“You will be, too. I know you will. In whatever way you want, you’ll be happy.”

“I hope so, and as long as there’s hope, there’s possibility.”

“Did someone say that? It sounds terribly clever.”

“Who says I didn’t just make that up because I’m clever?” Belle laughed, but sobered quickly when Clarice could only give her a wobbly smile. “What am I going to do without you?”

“Something amazing, I’m sure. You’ll turn the world upside down out there.”

“We’ll see,” Belle smiled and reached forward to pull Clarice into a tight hug. Clarice returned it with equal ferocity, hugging her so tightly she could barely breathe, but Belle held on for a long minute.

“Take care of yourself, all right?” Belle said when she finally had to let go. “And write. Often and a lot.”

“You too,” Clarice replied, her eyes too bright. “I’ll miss you.”

“Me too,” Belle said and was disappointed to hear her voice break as the tears she tried to hold back threatened to spill over.

They didn’t say goodbye, that would have been too final, but they rejoined the party together without another word. Clarice went ahead of her to find the arms of her husband and Papa came to stand by Belle’s side.

“Are you ready?” he asked, taking her hand. She looked down at him and smiled.

“Ready.” But as they left Clarice behind, Belle let the tears fall, steady and silent, down her cheeks.

_____

“Is that everything?” Papa asked as he heaved one last box into the back of the hard wooden wagon.

“I think so,” Belle replied, leaning on the edge of the wagon and trying to to appear to exhausted. They had spent all morning loading their trunks and bags into the wagon Papa had brought over before breakfast. They had managed it between them well enough, but she wasn’t used to such physical demands.

I suppose all that will change in the country, she mused.

“Do you want a last look around before we go?”

“Not really,” Belle replied honestly. The place they were leaving behind did not hold very many fond memories for her and, now that they were finally leaving, Belle found herself anxious to be off.

“All right then. I’d rather get going myself, truth be told,” Papa agreed and closed up the back of the wagon.

“There is one thing I need to do before we leave, though. Perhaps we could leave by way of our old home. I have something I want to give Maria.”

“Of course. It won’t be too painful?”

“I don’t think so. We’ve walked passed it a few times since then. I’ll be glad to see it one more time, anyway, as long as you’re all right with it.”

“Fine with me. Let’s go.”

Belle took a moment before she climbed up to pet the nose of the young horse Papa bought along with the wagon. He seemed a good strong horse, good enough to pull them and their belongings however many miles it would take to find their new home. And, what was more, he seemed very friendly which made Belle more optimistic about the journey ahead of them.

They rolled away from the apartment and detoured in towards the heart of the city several blocks towards their old home. As they turned onto the familiar streets of handsome brick buildings, Belle found herself recalling fond memories of her childhood.

These were the memories she wanted to take with her, the memories she wanted to hold. The seven years with her father in the second apartment were important, and she would remember those as well, but she would remember them much differently than the years of her early childhood in the place she had lived with her mother. It wasn’t the nicest or the fanciest, but the three of them had been happy living there.

They pulled up next to their door and Belle hopped down, a small bundle in her hands, and walked up to knock on the door that neighbored the one beside what used to be her own.

“Belle dear, is that you? My how you’ve grown,” Maria said as she opened the door. She had aged since Belle had last seen her; she visited once or twice, but it had been some time. She seemed more weary, as though she lost some of the bounce she remembered from their cooking lessons.

“Papa and I are moving to the country today, but I wanted to give you this first,” Belle said, presenting her with the package she was holding.

“What’s this?” Maria asked and unfolded the tea towel Belle had covered it with.

“You said that all you wanted in repayment for your lessons was a pie, and I’ve finally made you one. It’s a bit overdue, but I couldn’t leave without giving it to you.”

“Oh, my dear. That’s—that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done.” Maria brought one hand up to her chest and sniffed.

“I’m afraid I can’t stay,” Belle said uneasily, knowing that Papa wanted to make an early start and this was delaying them.

“Of course. Thank you, child. Good luck to you both,” she said, pulling Belle into a one-armed embrace and looking up to nod to her father.

“Goodbye!” she said with a smile and went back to her father, hearing the door close behind her as she did.

“That was very kind of you, my Belle.”

“I know I should have saved the money for our journey, but I promised I’d make her one.”

“Money well spent, I’d say,” Papa said with an approving nod. “She won’t soon forget that kindness. Now hop up next to me and let’s be off.”

“Are you ready, Philippe?” Belle asked the beautiful chestnut horse. He nudged her hand gently and Belle grinned. She gave the horse one last pat before climbing up to sit beside her father.

“Let’s go, Papa,” she said with a contented smile.

He clicked the reins, sending Philippe forward and they made their way out of the city, onwards to their new life.


	18. Chapter 18

Beast sat slumped his his chair as he had been for weeks, staring into the flames of the fireplace before him and waiting for his last hope to fade. Sometimes he would pace the dark halls of his castle or climb the rooftops for something to do, and he always returned to pretend to sleep in the West Wing, but he found himself returning to the same sitting room by the entrance hall, sitting in that same chair, and waiting for the end to come. It would take three more years for the rose to begin to wilt, though, so he was forced to hold on.

“Master?”

“What?” he growled at the voice that disturbed his grim thoughts.

“We were wondering if perhaps...perhaps there are other ways to find someone to break the spell.”

Beast turned to face the speaker and found Cogsworth, Lumiere, and Mrs. Potts standing before him. He sneered at Cogsworth’s suggestion and watched them all quiver at the sight of his fangs. Just as he could not get used to seeing his servants as moving objects, so too it seemed they could not become accustomed to his appearance. Except for Mrs. Potts. She always stood before him steadfast, no matter what he looked like or what he had done. Sometimes that was a comfort, but mostly it was an annoyance.

“Like what?” he growled, not even bothering to muster up interest in whatever idea they had. Whatever it was, it would be useless.

“Perhaps it is time you used the mirror to find a girl to your liking,” Lumiere suggested.

“I’ve tried that,” he snapped. “The mirror only shows what’s out there now, not the future. It can’t predict who it might be.”

“B-but if you ask it to show you the surrounding villages and towns, m-maybe you can find someone of interest,” Cogsworth stammered under the withering stare Beast gave him.

“A village girl?” A prince deserved at least the daughter of an earl, not some village peasant.

“It is unlikely any noble lady will be in reach,” Mrs. Potts reasoned. “And I’m sure there are many lovely girls in the surrounding villages.”

“And what do you suggest I do if I find a peasant that I think I might stand? Call on her? Bring her flowers?” He leapt to his feet, fury filling him at such an idea. “Have you forgotten what I am?”

“We only mean—“ Mrs. Potts started, but he wouldn’t hear any more. He swept out of the room and back up to the West Wing, slamming the massive doors behind him.

After a pause and before he could think about it too much, Beast stalked towards the table that held the rose and snatched up the mirror beside it.

“Show me the nearest village,” he demanded.

The mirror glowed green and cleared to show him a cobblestone street brimming with peasants going about their daily lives. He was surprised to find he recognized it; this was the village he visited where he heard the woman singing on the outskirts. He shook his head to drive the troublesome memory away and focused instead on the image the mirror gave him.

He tried to focus on the people as they passed by, but it was too crowded to land on a single face. Beast was about to put the mirror down when he caught the image of a brightly colored dress passing through the crowd.

“Follow that girl,” he commanded the mirror, though he wasn’t sure if the mirror would perform such a task. The mirror complied, however, the image gliding through the crowds as if attached to a bird until he could clearly see the girl in the green dress.

She wasn’t alone; there were two other girls with her, all with long blonde hair and matching faces. Triplets. They were pretty enough, he supposed. Surely one of them would be useful to him. But then he noticed them approach a man, a muscular man perhaps around his own age, wearing a red leather jerkin and a cocky smile.

Though Beast had not been around humans in nearly seven years, he could tell by the way he had his arms around two of them that he was flirting with them, and they were obviously infatuated with him. Beast grimaced as he watched the girls practically faint in the presence of this man and knew that he would never be able to endure such mindlessness in a bride.

He commanded the mirror to show him another village, and another, and another. None of them showed him any girls he found interesting enough to risk leaving his castle for. Unless they were cloistered away in their houses or traveling somewhere between the villages, there was no one he deemed appropriate. And what if he had? It would still be impossible for him to get to the girl. It was an exercise in futility.

He placed the mirror back on the table and went to find solace amongst the rooftops. He knew it had been a foolish idea to look. There was no way for him to enter a village and hope to live, let alone leave with a girl who would break the spell. No one would ever come to free him from his prison; the Enchantress was merely taunting him by letting him think there was a possibility of escape. He was foolish to have believed there was even a chance.

He climbed higher up into the rooftops, focusing only on where he put his paws and not on the girl he saw in the mirror or the idea that he would never break the spell. Paw after paw he climbed higher. Up here there was no one here to torment him, nothing that could remind him of the impossibility the Enchantress set up on him.

Beast clung to the highest peak as he often did when he climbed, staring off into the distance, and his thoughts caught up with him.

What was he to do now, with the knowledge that there was no chance for his redemption? He still had hope, a tattered, subborn shred of hope, that something might come in the few years that remained to him. But he knew it was useless.

He had his castle, that was something. He had his servants, most of whom blamed him for their own fates. He still had the forest, to some extent. He had resolved not to hunt there any longer, and he would keep that resolve, but he still might visit its depths. It wouldn’t do to let the few travelers who braved the forest think that it was safe to explore, to intrude.

So that’s what he would do, he would occupy that sitting room, pace in the halls, eat what the servants cooked for him, and prowl the trees to ward off intruders. Until the day came when the last petal would fall, that would be his purpose. And when the last petal fell...well then there would be nothing left, not even hope, to sustain him any longer.


	19. Chapter 19

Three weeks they were on the road. Well, two weeks traveling with a stopover in one town for a week in the middle. Belle thought at first it might be the place they would settle down in, but there weren’t any open houses and so they had to move on.

Though it delayed their journey, their stopover was well-warranted. Papa had a lead from someone in a town they had stayed in earlier on their journey that there was work for a carpenter. Since they had little money left, Papa thought it a good idea to try for it.

The job had been to build a tavern in the center of town after the previous one had burned down. They had the building constructed, but everything inside had to be created. Papa joined the ranks of ten other men who were busy building tables, chairs, stools... all sorts of things. But Papa had set himself apart by telling the tavern owner about his skill with a chisel and ended up doing some very intricate scroll work on the bar, stair rail, and wooden columns in the tavern. And earned a bonus for such beautiful work.

Belle was so proud of her father; he had finally gotten the recognition he deserved for his talents. He wasn’t creating his inventions yet, which she knew was his true passion, but after years of working for a dishonest fiend, it was good to see him happy with his work.

And it made them more than enough money to see them through the next week of travel to a town where the tavern owner said they might find a place to live.

Before then, they had stayed a one or two inns, but mostly they found themselves pulling over the side of the road at night to rest, unable to afford the expense of a room. It was so strange, lying under the open sky. Belle had never seen anywhere so big and open as it was beyond the city limits. Even the air felt different, fresher.

Papa had apologized for not stopping at more inns, but she actually didn’t mind all that much. The ground wasn’t exactly soft, but the summer nights were warm and the weather was fair. And the blanket of stars that lay above them as they rested was absolutely breathtaking. In Paris, all the lights from street lamps and people’s homes choked the stars, but now Belle could see how boundless the night sky was.

But as incredible as that was, she was glad when they were able to afford beds for the night. She would be even gladder still when they reached their new home. Traveling was exhausting, and Belle began to feel that they would never stop, that she would be plodding down an endless road forever. She missed the city that had been her home, but she just wanted an end to the aimless travels.

“Looks like we’ll have to camp out again,” Papa said as they neared the end of their third week on the road. “I thought we’d be able to make it to the next village by now, but I guess I misjudged it.”

“That’s all right, Papa. It looks like it will be a clear night.”

“Why don’t you see what we’ve got for food and I’ll brush Philippe out,” he suggested.

Belle went to do what her father asked, making what meal she could out of the food they had gotten at the last village they passed through. They had celebrated their first night after the tavern owner paid Papa for his work with a feast, but since then they had been trying to save as much money as possible. Papa had no idea how much this house he was told about would cost, or if there would even still be a house to buy by the time they got there, so they tried to save every last sous, staying in the cheapest rooms and buying only what they needed. But the village was not far, and Papa assured her that this would be the last night they’d have to rough it.

This time tomorrow I might have my own bed to sleep in, Belle thought to herself, thrilled by the very idea.

_____

“It’s in good shape,” the man with the thick red beard told them as he led Belle and her father over a short bridge towards a small cottage. “Only one owner, a family that had to move on account of a sick relative down the road a ways. Even dug that well over there not too long ago.”

“That’s convenient,” Papa said, admiring the stone well that stood not too far from the house. It would be much better than the pump down the road Belle used in Paris.

“I think it’s charming, Papa,” she said honestly. It was like a cottage from a fairy tale, tucked away on the outskirts of the village. It was small, but far bigger than their last apartment had been. There was plenty of land and even a grove of trees nearby; she was already picking out nooks to read in. If they had to leave the city, had to leave her life behind, this seemed a good a place as any to try to make a new life. And yet, she couldn’t help but wonder what Clarice was doing, think that she might be getting ready to meet her students for the day if she were back in Paris.

“You want to see the inside before you decide?” the man asked disinterestedly, motioning a large hand towards the door.

“Why not?” Papa said. The man led them towards the front door, but his sigh did not escape Belle’s ears. It was clear that this man had other things he’d rather be doing than showing an old man and a girl around a house. Even so, he opened the door for them and let them walk in first.

“Main room, kitchen, two bedrooms upstairs,” he said, pointing in different directions as he spoke. “Cellar entrance is out front, and there’s a bit of space in the back for some small animals. You’ll probably want to build a better shelter for your horse.”

“Of course,” Papa agreed. “Do you like it, Belle?”

She smiled and nodded enthusiastically, eager to examine the house more closely. So while Papa and the redheaded man went outside to discuss payment, Belle remained inside to explore her new home.

There wasn’t any furniture except for a sturdy wooden table before the fireplace, which made the house seem stark and unwelcoming, but Belle did her best to imagine it furnished. There was a fireplace at the far side of the main room directly opposite the front door, and to the left of that was a charming little window seat Belle intended to make good use of. To the right of the fireplace was a doorway that led into the kitchen. When Belle briefly explored it, she noticed it was well equipped with a stove and a few cupboards.

She withdrew and made her way upstairs to look at the bedrooms, thrilled that there were two of them. She and Papa could each have their own now, guilt-free. They were nearly identical to each other, but where the first bedroom had a window that looked out towards town, the second faced out onto the wild fields that grew behind the house.

Belle stepped further into the second room and opened the window so she might lean on its sill, mesmerized by what she saw. The fields seemed to go on forever, lined by forests on either side. With the clear blue summer sky above and a fresh breeze blowing in at her, Belle’s mind ran wild with fairy tales. Perhaps there were some adventures to be had out here after all, with all this wildness around her.

“Belle?” Papa’s voice broke into her thoughts.

“Up here, Papa,” she called, turning from the window and listened to him climb the steps.

“What do you think?” he asked as he came into view through the open door.

“It’s very nice,” she said.

“Nice view, anyway,” he said, motioning out the window behind her. “And it’s much bigger than our old place, for half the cost. Do you think you can see yourself living here?”

“I think so,” she confirmed. Honestly, she was so tired of traveling at this point anything would do, but this cottage was quite lovely. If she was to live in the country, then it might as well be here. “Though we’ll need some furniture.”

“That might be helpful,” Papa chuckled. “So it’s all right I’ve paid the man for the house?”

“Definitely,” she said, unable to help the smile that spread across her face at the sight of her father’s excitement.

“Well, then we’ve got some unpacking to do! Come on, my Belle.”

“Wait, Papa,” she giggled as he went to go back downstairs. “You have to pick which room you want. It’s your choice, since you went for so long without one. I insist,” she added when he began to protest.

“Very well,” he sighed and briefly glanced into each room. “I’ll take this one,” he decided, pointing to the one with the window that looked towards town.

“Are you sure?” she asked carefully, suspecting he knew which one she had been hoping for.

“It faces west. I’ll get to sleep a little later in the mornings,” he said matter-of-factly.

“All right, Papa. Let’s start unpacking.”

They unhitched Philippe and left him tied to the post of an overhang in the backyard, grazing happily on the patches of grass that grew in the dirt yard. He deserved that treat, after carrying them so far for so long.

It took them nearly the rest of the day to unload their belongings from the wagon, so they had run out of daylight before they got a chance to organize anything. Their boxes and bags were piled in the main room, waiting the morning sun to be sorted. Exhausted, she and Papa collapsed amongst the boxes. Belle could well imagine how Odysseus must have felt after his own long journey finally ended.

“I say we just eat what we’ve got left over from the trip and start fresh tomorrow,” Papa suggested from where he leaned against one wall. Belle agreed immediately, not having the energy to walk into town for supplies or sustain the inevitable curious stares from the villagers at the sight of someone new in town.

“It seems strange to think we won’t be traveling any more,” she said as she waited for the strength to stand and fetch their dinner.

“It does, doesn’t it? What was it, about three weeks on the road?”

“Just about. One week while you worked on that tavern, but that still feels like traveling to me,” Belle replied.

“Agreed. But see, I told you we’d be settled down somewhere before your birthday. I had two weeks to spare!”

“Thank you, Papa. It’ll be nice to not be on the road for that,” she said, truly grateful.

“I can’t believe you’ll be sixteen in just a couple of weeks,” he sighed, his cheery mood dwindling a little.

“Oh, Papa,” she sighed, smiling and stood to kiss her father’s cheek before setting about trying to find where they put their food supply.


	20. Chapter 20

Belle woke in the morning and for a moment was confused where she was. But the memory of purchasing the small cottage came back to her as sleep released her and she smiled at the thought of not having to travel any more.

They hadn’t beds or mattresses, so she and Papa made their own makeshift beds out of the blankets they had brought along with them and slept on the first floor by the fireplace. Belle detangled herself from her blankets and prodded the fire beside her back to life so she might make some tea and wash her face before their first day in their new home began.

Papa was still sleeping a few feet away from her, so she crept about quietly to give him a few more minutes rest. He had done enough for her, giving her the space closest to the fireplace to sleep, letting her have the bedroom with her favorite view. The least she could do was let him sleep a little while longer.

She tiptoed into the kitchen to see what she might find in the way of a bucket, setting her hair back to rights in her usual ribbon as she did. This morning she would learn how to draw water from the well. Belle crept past her father (though she suspected she could have stomped past him banging the bucket on the floor and he still wouldn’t wake) and made her way outside.

The weather was changing; already the cool spring mornings were giving way to the heat of summer. Her birthday was not long off, now.

The well was quite close, about halfway between the house and the line of trees. Placing her bucket on the stone wall of the well, she looked down into the dark depths. She could see nothing, but when she dropped a small pebble down she heard a friendly little plunk as it fell into the water below. There was a large bucket hanging in the center attached to a long rope. It looked like it was raised and lowered with a handle on the side of the well.

Belle removed the small loop of rope that kept the handle in place and began turning the handle round and round, watching the bucket lower until it was out of sight. When she heard a splash, Belle pulled at the handle the opposite direction. It was heavier, much heavier with the weight of the water, and she struggled to raise it. Slowly, she turned the handle and slowly, the bucket raised, until it came back into view now dripping wet. Hastily, Belle replaced the rope that would hold the handle in place and heaved the bucket a little ways up and over so it could sit on the wall. But it was far too big and heavy for her to lift and pour it into her smaller bucket, so instead Belle placed the smaller one on the ground, angled the well bucket, and slowly tipped it so the water fell into the empty one. It quivered for a moment and Belle thought it might tip, but soon the weight of the water filling the bottom held it steady.

Triumphant, Belle took up the smaller bucket by the handle and slowly made her way back to the house, trying not to slosh all the water out as she went. And then she got to the stairs.

She stopped, setting the bucket on the ground, and stared at those three steps as if they were a great mountain. Her arms were already exhausted by their unfamiliar work, she wasn’t sure she could complete this last hurdle. She took a determined breath, and picked up her bucket again. Taking it slowly, she raised the bucket to the first step, and set it back down again, then repeated it until she had reached the landing by the front door.

“Hah!” she whispered to herself.

Getting the bucket to the kitchen was much easier after that. She washed and dried the kettle they had brought with them, got the stove going with some of the wood from the fireplace, and soon enough the kettle was hissing as the water inside began to boil.

She scooped some of the well water remaining in her bucket and splashed her face with it, the cool water washing away the lingering sleepiness. Another handful was for her to sip, and never had she tasted such delicious water before. It was so cool and clear it was as if she were sipping diamonds.

Only when the kettle began to boil in earnest did Belle go and wake her father. It was time to start their day.

“Morning already?” he asked groggily. “I slept like the dead, I was so tired.”

Belle smiled in sympathy and helped her father fold the blankets again, depositing them in an open box that waited nearby.

“Shall we explore our new home?” Papa said once he had a sip of tea and splashed his face with the water she had drawn on her own. “It’ll be quite the adventure, won’t it?”

Belle nodded, but didn’t agree. An adventure was exploring a new world, battling dragons or finding hidden treasure. All right, this could be considered a new world. It was an entirely new experience, after all, a new world for her. She squared her shoulders and tried to be optimistic.

“And,” Papa added as he retrieved some coin from their secret store in one of the crates, “I’ve heard this town has a bookstore.”

“It does?” she gasped. It had been far too long since she had a new book to read. Perhaps she could make a bargain with the owner like she had with Miss Sybil.

“Mhm, but first I think we should investigate the bakery and see what they have for breakfast. Then we can start ordering supplies and make this home a little more comfy.”

“Do we have enough for all that?”

“Enough for food and beds I think, which will get us started. I’m going to ask about a job, too. I noticed there was no sign for a carpenter when we came through yesterday and I think I can fill that gap.”

Belle tried to remember if she saw one or not, but she was too bone-weary from traveling to notice much about her new home the day before.

“Are you sure, Papa?” For years she watched her father suffer with his job as a carpenter, low wages and long hours. He seemed to enjoy himself helping to build the tavern in the other town, but that was a temporary thing.

“I’m sure. I’m good at it, and it’ll be good to have an income to rely on.”

“I wonder if I should take up with tutoring,” she mused.

“There’s a schoolhouse here. Best see what setup they have before you step on any toes,” Papa suggested, to which Belle quickly agreed. She wanted to fit in here as best she could, and making the schoolmaster mad wouldn’t help with that.

“Ready?” Papa asked, motioning towards their front door.

Belle straightened her ribbon and her patchwork dress. She needed a new one badly; she had added several inches to the hem, but she was growing in more than height and she didn’t know how to fix that without making a whole new dress, which was beyond her skills anyway. Belle desperately wanted a new book from the bookshop Papa promised, but she should save the money for a dress.

“Ready,” she confirmed and summoned her courage, preparing for the curious stares of the strangers who were to become her neighbors. Perhaps this was some form of adventure after all.


	21. Chapter 21

She and Papa made their way over the small stone bridge towards the village and Belle took in her new surroundings. When they had arrived yesterday to buy the house, she had been too weary to be very curious, and so unsure if this would even be the place where they would settle. Yesterday it had been just another in a long line ofvillages, so many curious eyes looking at them. This morning, Belle made sure to examine her new home and tried not to think too bitterly of the adventures she had lost by coming here.

They passed shops and houses, people just starting to begin their day. There was a bakery on one corner quite near the center of the village, and inside the open window Belle could see a plump, middle-aged woman kneading dough while arguing with an equally plump man with a thick beard.

Papa stopped at the bakery, suggesting they buy a couple of fresh rolls for their breakfast. Belle agreed easily, the scent of freshly baked bread making her stomach growl in anticipation. But catching the attention of the arguing pair inside the shop proved a difficult task.

“Pardon? Pardon, monsieur?” Belle called loudly over their squabbling.

“You stupid sod, there’s customers waiting for you,” the woman scolded her husband with a smack of her floured hand on his shoulder.

“Bonjour mademoiselle et monsieur,” the baker said with gusto as he finally turned to them. “What can I do for you?”

“Just a couple of fresh rolls, if you please,” Papa said. The baker turned to bark the order at his wife before returning his attention to the two of them.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” the baker asked with a kind, wide smile. “Visiting?”

“Just moved here, actually. Up in the cottage just outside of town.” Papa replied while Belle watched the baker’s wife gather two steaming rolls from a tray.

“Oh, how nice. That place has been empty for a little while now. It’ll be good to see someone liven it up again,” the baker’s wife said, handing over their order. “The Millers left so suddenly to care for her mother. Wasn’t that nice of her husband to do that for her, dear?” she addressed the question to her husband who quickly nodded and agreed.

“Marie, the bread is burning!” he shouted, all illusions of demureness ruined as his anger bubbled up again. Marie gave him another smack on his shoulder before rescuing the loaves of bread from the massive oven.

“Well, I hope to be seeing you around more often...” he paused in search of their names.

“Maurice. And this is my daughter, Belle,” Papa introduced them.

“Well, Maurice. Belle. It’s very nice to meet you. No, no, first timers on the house,” the baker insisted when Papa began to pull out coins for the rolls.

“Thank you very much,” Papa said with a grateful nod and Belle smiled at him.

Belle and her father continued through town nibbling on their breakfast. She was encouraged by this first interaction; the baker and his wife seemed very friendly, even their arguing she could see was well-meaning towards each other. It was a good omen, she decided.

As they dodged carts and people going about their business, Belle took in the tidy homes and businesses with their signs above the doors, noticing the curious glances that were sent her way. No one approached them, though, and Belle was content to avoid awkward interactions. As nice as the baker was, the stares of the people were exhausting enough without stopping to chat with everyone.

It was interesting to watch them haggle and bargain and chatter amongst each other as they made their way through town. Though the same thing happened in the city, it was different here with people carrying about piglets and herding goats through the streets. There were no farmers that she knew of in the city, and certainly no one looking to buy a live goat. She would though; soon they would have goats and chickens, too, and she’d never have to buy milk or eggs again. But though she saw shops for hats and dressed, clocks and tools, there was one particular sign missing that she was desperate to find.

“I’ve got to see about the price of lumber just up here,” her father said, drawing her attention back on him. “Why don’t you go find what you’re not-so-subtly looking for and I’ll meet you by the fountain in about an hour.”

“Thank you, Papa,” she said with an appreciative smile and went in search of the promised bookstore. She hoped it hadn’t gone out of business since the man up the road told them about it.

She examined the shop signs and peered into windows, imagining even just a tiny corner shop with a few shelves of stories, a deafening crash echoed through the air and made her jump nearly out of her skin. It was like thunder, but much closer and much sharper. And then a duck fell from the sky, flopping lifeless onto the cobblestones in front of her.

Belle gasped in shock and jumped a step back, staring at the poor bird. It had been shot, that much was clear, but who would go shooting in the middle of a busy town square?

A boy with a stiff tale of hair tied behind his head and a rather large nose hurried up to the duck, but stopped when he noticed her standing there.

“Surprised you, eh?” he said with a wide grin, amused by the idea. “You must be new.”

“You mean you do this a lot?” she asked, shocked.

“What? No, I didn’t shoot the thing. G—“

“I did.” Another man stepped up to them and crossed his arms over his wide barrel chest, smirking down at her. The gun slung over his shoulder confirmed that it had been him

“Am I supposed to be impressed by this?” she asked, motioning down at the bird that was now starting to ooze blood onto the stones.

The smaller man quickly shoved the bird into a burlap sack. The taller one’s smirk faltered slightly at her words, but he forced it into a wider smile.

“You really shouldn’t hunt in the middle of town like this. It’s dangerous,” she added before he could speak again. Judging by his cocky grin, he had been about to explain to her what he was doing, but she wasn’t having it.

He didn’t reply right away, only looked her up and down for a moment. She noticed his eye linger on the patches of her dress, but any judgement was gone by the time his eyes returned to her face.

“What’s your name? I don’t believe I know you,” he asked.

“I’m Belle. My father and I just moved in yesterday.”

“Oh, at the Miller’s place over the bridge,” the smaller man piped in.

“That’s right,” she confirmed. She had no idea who the Millers were, but as hers was the only house over the bridge, it could only be the one he meant.

“Why don’t I give you a tour then, Belle,” the still-nameless larger man said, offering her one large, muscular arm. “No one knows the town like I do.”

“And who are you, exactly?” she asked, making no move to touch him. He paused, clearly surprised that she had no idea who he was, but recovered quickly.

“I’m Gaston. I—“

“And you are?” she interrupted, turning to the other man with the duck in his bag.

“Lefou,” he said quickly, looking embarrassed and peeking up at the other man as if asking permission to speak.

“Le—really?” This man’s name was ‘the fool’?

“Everyone calls him that,” Gaston chuckled and, to her horror, put one arm around her shoulders and began ushering her forward.

She panicked for a moment, very much not liking being forced to walk with him. But she made herself calm down, to realize that this man, while forceful, didn’t seem to mean her harm, and simply ducked under his arm. It took him an extra step to realize she was gone, which gave her time to start walking away. It was rude of her to, she couldn’t deny that, but this man did not make her feel at all at ease, and she was eager to get away from him.

“Hold on a minute,” Gaston said, catching back up to her. He caught hold of her arm to stop her; it wasn’t a tight hold, but Belle could feel the strength in his fingers. “Don’t you want to see my trophies?”

“You’re—what?”

“My trophies. You know, the heads of all my successful hunts. I have dozens,” he said, puffing out his chest.

Belle felt nauseated, and wasn’t quite successful in hiding her disgusted grimace. All those poor animals. She understood hunting for food and for thinning the herds to prevent complications of overpopulation, but this man clearly hunted for nothing but sport, and was proud of it.

“No, thank you,” she said as gracefully as she could manage. “Do you know where the bookshop is, though?”

“The bookshop?” he sneered, dropping her arm so quickly it was if it had burned him. “Why would you want to go there?”

“To get books to read,” she said simply, unperturbed by his reaction. It wasn’t new to her, this surprise and disapproval of her reading, but it was certainly the most vocal anyone had been about it to her face.

“That old bookseller is nuts,” Lefou laughed. “I don’t think anyone goes in his shop.” Gaston joined in the merriment, the tension that hung in the air gone.

“Then how does he make a living?” Belle wondered aloud.

“Listen, Belle, take my advice,” Gaston said, once again putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close as if to tell her a secret. “Drop all this book nonsense. That’s no way to find a husband. Come with me instead.”

“I’m not looking for a husband just now, as it happens. I’ll find the bookshop myself. Thank you,” she said and ducked out of his arm again, walking away as quickly as she could, not daring to look back.

This time he let her go, thank goodness, though she knew she would see him again. This was a small town, after all, and his ego was big enough to take up most of it.

She spotted the sign for the bookshop just ahead; she must have missed it on their way to the bakery. The top half of the split door was open to the early summer air, so she undid the latch and let herself in, the cheerful tinkle of bells announcing her arrival. As Belle’s eyes adjusted to the indoor light after the brightness outside, she grinned at what lay before her.


	22. Chapter 22

Belle went to the shelves and ran her hand along the spines of the hundreds of books she found in the shop. It was quite different from Miss Sybil’s with its hapless piles; this shop was neat as a pin, every book aligned on a shelf next to those of similar subject matter. Science, philosophy, mathematics, and there was even a large section for novels, poetry, and plays. Shakespeare had an entire shelf to himself.

She picked out a novel she had never heard of before—really she was impressed at the selection in such a small town—and sank down in the aisle to dive into its pages.

“What are you doing?” a voice broke into her story some twenty pages later, making her jump.

She looked up to find an older man with messy white hair looming over her.

“I—reading, sir,” she replied, standing up quickly and trying not to blush with the embarrassment of being caught.

“Reading, eh? A young girl like you? Why don’t you just buy the book and take it home. You’ll strain your eyes in this light.”

The man didn’t seem angry that Belle had been stealing words from a book she had not bought, but that brought up a new embarrassment.

“I—um, that is, we just moved here, and I’m afraid I don’t have—“

“Ah, the new neighbors,” the man exclaimed. “I knew I didn’t recognize you. So you’ve spent all your money getting here, and now you can’t buy my books, is that it?”

Belle nodded sheepishly.

“Well, I’m no philanthropist, but it’s been a while since anyone’s shown my books such love. Would you like to borrow it?”

“May I?” Belle asked, hugging the book to her.

“Why not? I won’t squelch a young reader’s ambition over a few measly coins.”

“That’s—I mean, thank you very much—but how do you stay in business?”

“It’s more of a hobby, to be honest,” he chuckled. “My shop doesn’t see much action, and that’s the truth.”

“Then how—“

“Allow a wealthy old retiree his hobbies, won’t you?” he asked with humor and extended his hand for the book. “What did you find?”

Belle obligingly gave him the book so he could read the title, wondering what secrets this man had. But she didn’t pry, not yet, anyway.

“My name is Belle, by the way,” she said as the old man scribbled down the title. “And my father is Maurice. He’s buying lumber just now so we can build some new furniture. The old tenant didn’t leave us much.”

“Alexander,” he replied and gave the book back to her. “Mind you take care of that, or else I will have to charge you.”

“Of course, monsieur. Thank you so much.” She clutched the book to her chest, excited for something new to read after so many weeks.

“Your father’s a carpenter, is he, trying to save money building things himself?”

“Oh, yes. He’s quite a skilled carpenter. He’s worked as one nearly all my life, but he’d much rather be working on his inventions.”

“An inventor then. Well, we do get quite a few fairs in the area that like that sort of thing. Some of them even give out prizes.”

“I’ll tell him, thank you,” she replied, grateful for this new knowledge. Papa might finally have an excuse to get back into his inventions.

“Take care of that book, and if you return it in good condition I’ll let you borrow another.”

Again, Belle wondered about his business model, but she wasn’t about to complain. She only thanked him again and set out towards the fountain, eager to read her new book. When she learned the streets better, she’d be reading as she walked, but it was all too new still, so she had to be content to wait to read until she reached the fountain.

As soon as she sat on the low wall by the fountain, the water splashing merrily behind her, Belle opened the book in her lap and dove back into the story.

Too soon, though, she was interrupted a second time.

“Well, if it isn’t the new girl,” someone said as a shadow spilled over her book. Belle looked up to see that same fellow, Gaston, standing in front of her, arms crossed over his chest and a wide grin on his face. Close by, his strange little friend was watching them.

“Hello,” she said, hoping maybe this interaction would be better.

“What are you doing?” he asked, leaning over her to look at the book in her lap.

“Reading. I found that bookshop and the owner—“

“You were serious?” he interrupted, seemingly completely astonished by this. Belle sighed; so he really was that sort of person.

“I was. Was there something you wanted?” she asked, changing the subject.

“I just don’t like seeing pretty girls sitting alone the way you were,” he said, sitting down on the fountain wall next to her with a cocky grin.

“How thoughtful,” she replied, allowing a little sarcasm to seep through. It went right over his head as his grin never faltered. “I believe those girls are trying to get your attention, though,” she added, pointing to three blonde girls, clearly triplets, who were huddled together by the hat shop, staring at them.

“Oh, don’t mind them,” he insisted with a dismissing wave of his hand. “You’re the one I’d like to talk to.”

“All right. What would you like to talk about?” she said cautiously, bracing herself for the worst but willing to give this man one more chance. It was her first day in town, after all. She shouldn’t make up her mind about people too quickly.

“Where are you from?” he asked and she had to pause for a moment, surprised at the question meant only to learn more about her.

“Paris,” she replied amiably, wistfully remembering her home miles and miles away.

“You’re a city girl, eh?”

“Not anymore,” she replied with a smile, motioning to her new surroundings. “Have you ever been?”

“To Paris? Of course not. I went to Lyon last season though, after I won the big game contest for bagging a buck nearly six hundred pounds. Biggest I’d ever seen. Got his antlers on my chair over at the tavern.”

“Your chair? Do you own the tavern?” she asked, curious as to how else he would be mounting things on walls and claiming a spot of his own, even though it seemed unlikely for someone his age.

“You could say that I’m their frontman,” he said, proudly puffing out his chest.

“At seventeen?” she said doubtfully.

“I’ll be eighteen in a month,” he said as if that made it better.

“Ah, of course,” was all she said and let silence fall between them.

“So this, ah, reading thing...” he began and Belle waited, wondering which direction he would take this. “What do you...read about?”

“All sorts of things. Science, philosophy...novels are my favorite though. I think they—“ she broke off, noticing the way his eyes had already begun to glaze over. She had seen it countless times before, and really she shouldn’t have been surprised Gaston had no real interest in her books. She was honestly surprised he had even asked.

“Nevermind,” she said quickly. “It’s just fun to learn new things or to go to new places in their stories.”

“Just as long as you don’t go getting crazy ideas,” he added, laughing as if saying something clever.

“What’s that—“

“There you are, Belle,” Papa said, approaching her. Belle sighed, relieved to have been saved from saying something indignant. “Already with a book in hand, I see. Who’s your friend?”

“Gaston,” he stood up at his full height to introduce himself to her father. They exchanged a quick handshake and Belle found herself inwardly wincing at the contact.

“Good day, Gaston. I’m afraid we’ve got a lot to do,” Belle said, leading her father away.

“I’ll see you soon,” he called after her and Belle could hear the dominating grin in his voice.

“He seemed friendly,” Papa said as they walked back towards their new house. Belle gritted her teeth and said nothing. She wasn’t so sure about Gaston; nothing he did was outwardly bad, but she wasn’t quite convinced he was a good person, either.

“How did you make out at the shops?” she asked, changing the subject.

“No bad,” he replied. “We’ve got what we need so we don’t have to sit on the floor for long. I got mattresses and pillows, and I’ve even picked up a couple goats and chickens. They’ll all be delivered tomorrow.”

“Well, we’ll be living like kings by the sounds of it. We had money for all that?”

“Enough. Things are cheaper here than in the city. I’ve also got a job as a carpenter in town so we’ll have some income. Though if it pays as well as I think, and if I can get enough jobs, I might be able to retire in a year or two. Focus on my inventions again.”

“Heaven knows you deserve it, Papa,” she replied and gave a gentle squeeze on his arm as they walked. “Oh, that reminds me, the bookseller mentioned that there are often fairs that come into the area that have contests for inventions.”

“I’ll have to keep an eye out for those for sure!” he exclaimed and Belle could see the excitement at the very idea of it. His inventions would be seen, and perhaps even be successful enough to give them a new life, perhaps even return to Paris. They would be very comfortable here by the sounds of it, but Belle still dreamed of other worlds.


	23. Chapter 23

As the weeks passed, a cloud passed over him as heavy as a stone on his chest. It weighed him down, making even the simplest task feel impossible. It was an effort to walk the halls, to stand, to even speak to the servants the little he had before. Soon he did not even bother to try.

“Master?”

He gave no indication he heard Lumiere. He was lying in his tattered nest of rags and pillows that served as his bed, his back to the door. For all Lumiere would be able to tell, he was asleep. Except he didn’t sleep. Not well, anyway. Not anymore.

“Master,” Lumiere said again, not put off by his silence. “I have brought your luncheon.”

Again he gave no reply. Just as sleep evaded him, so too did his desire to eat. For days he had done little more than pick at the food provided for him, and only that because the discomfort of not eating was greater. He did not wish to die; if he did, there were dozens of less painful ways than starvation to achieve it, he just...didn’t have a particular desire to live.

“It is a beautifully rare steak, just the way you like it.”

It was obvious his ruse of sleeping wasn’t working, so Beast summoned his energy and sat up to face his maitre d’ who had inched himself into the room. Beast could see his flames amongst the debris, they were moving forward still as he watched until Lumiere came full into view around a crushed table.

Beast forced himself to look at the odd wax face, elongated and cylindrical as a real candle, but with a wax nose protruding, working eyes amongst the wax, and a mouth that appeared half wax and half brass. It was a wonder he was able to talk with that. He stared, saying nothing, and watched as Lumiere’s hopeful smile faded under his unresponsive gaze.

“Master,” Lumiere said again, this time dropping his disrespectful teasing tone. “I know it looks bleak, but we have got to keep our spirits up. There is still so much time. Anything might happen.”

“Nothing will happen,” he grunted a reply. “I doubt there really is a way to end it. It was only to torment me further.”

“Forgive me, Master, but that is nonsense.”

Beast sneered, making Lumiere flinch slighly at the sight of his fangs, but did not back down.

“If the Enchantress did not intend for there to be a way to end her spell, then why would she have given you that rose? That rose marks an end, and end to something, and there cannot be an end without a way to end it, no?”

“What?” That didn’t make the least bit of sense to him.

“All I mean to say is that there is a time limit for a reason, and that very fact means that there must be a way to break the spell.”

“Perhaps, but to what end?”

“Well, that I cannot say. Now, I have a double mission today. After you have eaten, it seems that Cogsworth needs a favor.”

“Of me?” he snarled, offended by the idea that he do work for his servant.

“Oui. It seems that the large tree on the south side of the castle has fallen and it has damaged a portion of one wall and blocked a door. The wall can be repaired, but we cannot budge the tree to start our work. We thought perhaps you could do it.”

“A tree?”

“Oui, quite a large one. Will you help?”

Beast paused; he didn’t want to do this, he didn’t want to do anything, but neither did he want to lose his only true domain remaining to him. If he didn’t take care of his castle, that’s exactly what would happen.

“Very well,” he grumbled, getting to his feet. “Leave that there,” he added, indicating the tray Lumiere had brought with him. The cart tipped and the tray slid onto what remained of his mattress so neatly not a single drop of water from his goblet spilled.

They walked in silence, Beast plodding through the dreary halls and listened to the metallic chinks Lumiere made while he did his best to keep up with him. Down they went, down and to the right to the south side of the building as Lumiere said. Beast could smell the warm smell of earth and grass before he saw the gap in the wall that allowed in those scents.

“Here we are,” Lumiere said unnecessarily. Beast ignored him, stepping forward to assess the situation.

The tree had fallen just as Lumiere said, knocking a hole in the wall about as wide as his arm was long and a little taller than him. He reached out and put a paw on the part of the trunk that smashed its way through the stone. He didn’t consider himself a great study with plants, but he had been in the forest enough times to recognize a dead tree when he saw one. This one had been dead for some time, finally collapsing under its own weight, large enough to do some damage when it did. He doubted he could reach around the trunk for how big it was.

“Do you think you can shift it, Master?”

“Maybe. I’ll need rope.”

“At once,” Lumiere said and hopped away.

Beast growled quietly as he waited. He didn’t want to do this, he wasn’t even sure he could. If there was any way he could see to avoid it, he would. His only option was to deal with this quickly and escape back to the West Wing. He would not be conned into doing anything more.

He heard the distant clink of Lumiere’s return, but there seemed to be others with him. Mrs. Potts, Cogsworth, and several other servants he did not recognize were with him, dragging lengths of rope with them.

“Thank you for helping, Master,” Mrs. Potts said, but he ignored her, taking the rope from them without a word. He wrapped the rope around the trunk, throwing the loose ends outside.

“Don’t stand behind me,” he warned as he took his stance, bracing his feet against the stone floor and leveraging his broad shoulder against the trunk. Without waiting to see if they did as he said, Beast began heaving forward, pushing the trunk away from the wall.

It creaked and groaned as it moved, but move it did. Inch by inch it gave way until Beast could slide between it and the wall to finish the job. He leapt to the grass a few feet below, grabbing the rope he had thrown out earlier before the tree had the chance to settle back against the wall. Beast continued his work, pulling forward, feeling his muscles strain, the rope sliding across his hide. But the tree was moving.

Beast adjusted his grip on the ropes, twisting them so he pulled with his chest like an ox with a wagon, and the tree came free. Beast jumped out of the way as it crashed to the ground and dislodged himself from the ropes. He looked over to see the servants had gathered in the now-empty gap in the wall, jumping about strangely and crying out. It took him a moment to realize they were cheering. They were cheering for him and what he had accomplished. He straightened up a little and almost smiled. They had needed his help, after all.

He stalked forward towards the hole in the wall, waving one paw to make the servants scoot aside so he could climb up the way he had come out.

“Cover the hole for tonight. Cogsworth, you can find materials to rebuild?”

“Y-Yes, Master. Of course.”

“Then alert me when you do.”

“Of course, Master. But are you—“ Beast had started walking away while Cogsworth spoke, but heard someone silence his question. He doubted it mattered anyway.

Beast stalked all the way back up to the West Wing, snatched up the plate of food left behind by Lumiere, and sat on the balcony. It was a warm day, the sun beaming down, and Beast let it soak into his fur and hide as it had not done in weeks. Though his food was cold, he realized how ravenously hungry he was and devoured everything as he sat, wondering only how long it would take to get the supplies to mend the wall.


	24. Chapter 24

Supplies to mend the wall came the next day and Beast, still with the success of the previous day in his mind, went down to help when Cogsworth had asked. He lifted stones that would have been impossible to shift had he been human, patching the wall up bit by bit until at last it was whole again.

“Thank you, Master,” Cogsworth said when they were through. Beast’s arms were aching, but it was a good ache, one of accomplishment such as he rarely felt before.

“Just check the rest of the trees to see if any more are rotted,” he growled, pretending not to be pleased at the work he had done. “Don’t want this to happen again.”

“Yes, of course, Master,” Cogsworth replied and Beast stalked away. He was careful of his pride in the work he had done; when the curse first befell him, he had been excited by his new strength and what his new form was capable of. Now that he had been useful, he didn’t allow himself to feel the pride, to marvel in his own strength. Not much, at least.

As he stalked the halls again, searching for something to do other than languish in his misery in the West Wing, he decided it had been some time since he had gone into the forest. He had no intention to hunt, no inclination to disturb the villages, but his presence had been useful in feeding gossip to keep curious eyes or cocky hunters away from his territory.

So Beast made his way out of the castle and back into the trees. He could breathe better outside the stone walls, even as he enjoyed the sanctuary they provided.

Summer had started while he was holed up in the West Wing, the heat of the sun more pronounced on his hide even though the dappled light of the trees. Life had bloomed in the forest since he had last been. He could smell the fertile soil dug up by various burrowing animals, hear the song of birds hidden high up in the green branches, the rustle of a small herd of deer crunching leaves not far off. It was peaceful, freeing, and he filled his lungs and eyes and ears with it all.

Beast practiced moving silently through the forest, his massive paws picking through the underbrush almost effortlessly. Despite his bulk, despite the terrain, he was so silent a fawn and her mother didn’t even notice him approach until a breeze brought his sent to them. They bounded off together in the direction of the village to the east and Beast watched them go. He nearly followed them to the village, the urge to see the mother and son at the house with the well overwhelming him for a moment. But the pain of the memories it would inevitably bring up again—he wasn’t able to put himself through it again.

Instead, he skirted his own territory, chasing off the occasional predator but not hunting, not seeking to kill. But he was mildly surprised that he came across no humans. The solitude of his castle was something he was something he had carefully cultivated over the years, something he strived for when it became clear there was no hope of breaking the curse on him. But the lack of even a sign of a human was disappointing.

Perhaps there were enough legends about a monster in the forest, enough warnings to keep them away. It had been seven years, he reasoned to himself. Seven years of his wandering the trees, many of those years spent hunting without abandon. Evidently that had been enough to keep humans away. He did wonder what sort of stories they told each other, but that would have to remain a mystery.

Beast turned back to the castle as the sun began to set, shadows stretching in long lines over the ground. He had succeeded in his task to keep his castle from being discovered by unwanted eyes. That meant his servants would not be bothered, that he would not be accosted, but so too did it mean that the Enchantress had won. He was alone with his hard heart and beastly form, and now, thanks to his own efforts, there was no chance of anyone freeing him from it.


	25. Chapter 25

“Happy birthday, my Belle,” Papa said as he came downstairs. He kissed her on the cheek and went to pour himself a cup a tea.

“Thank you, Papa. But aren’t I getting a little old for birthdays?” she protested with a smile.

“Never. And especially not when you turn sixteen. I’m working down at the tavern today, but I thought I’d pick up some dinner to bring home with me, save you cooking tonight for once.”

“I don’t mind, Papa,” she insisted.

“I know, but I haven’t been able to spoil you in quite some time. Now that I can a little, let me have a bit of fun, won’t you?”

“Well, I’ve already made breakfast, so I hope you won’t hold that against me,” she teased, enjoying how excited her father was to give her this.

“I suppose not,” he laughed. “But have fun today, all right? Go to the bookshop, have a bit of a walk, do as you like.”

“All right, Papa,” she promised, although she felt a little uneasy about it. There was still so much to do, so much to learn about their new life, taking a day off seemed a waste. But she kept these thoughts to herself as she gave him his breakfast. He was so excited about her birthday, she didn’t want to spoil his fun.

“I knew I was forgetting something. Belle, would you do me a favor?” Papa asked as he finished his eggs and started to get ready to go. “There’s a box on my bed. Would you run up and get it for me?”

Belle nodded and did as her father asked. The only thing she found on the bed was a small, crisp white box with a ribbon tied around it. It looked far too delicate to hold anything her father would use, but she brought it downstairs anyway, trying to subdue the small selfish bubble of hope that this might be for her.

“Here, Papa. What is it?”

“Why don’t you open it and find out?” Papa laughed. “It is for you, after all.

“It is? Oh, Papa, you didn’t have to get me anything. We’re not as well off as all that.”

“Belle, just open it and tell me if you like it,” he laughed.

Unable to deny herself any longer, Belle pulled at the ribbon that held the box closed and lifted the lid.

“Is this—is this really for me?” she gasped as she peered eagerly inside.

“Well, I’m not going to wear it. Do you like it?”

Belle lifted the dress from the box and held it to her shoulders, letting the beautiful blue fabric drape over her body. “It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed, twirling around to admire how bright the blue was, how the skirt moved. It was the most gorgeous thing she had ever seen.

“Oh, Papa, thank you so much!” She bent to pull her father into a tight hug. After all they had been through, after all they had to give up, she knew what it meant for him to be able to give this to her.

“Go try it on before I have to go.”

Belle bolted back upstairs to put on her new dress. It was a beautiful, bright blue with a lovely white blouse to match, unlike any dress she had since she was a little girl. The material was a thicker, more durable quality than she was used to, but the colors were crisp and beautiful. It made her brown, almost-too-small dress seem even more drab.

“What do you think?” she asked and she came back downstairs, unable to help the grin that spread across her face. She twirled to better show it off.

“You look beautiful, my Belle. That color suits you. And it seems I have an eye for dresses, that fits you well.”

“It really does,” she agreed, although she could feel some small adjustments she needed to make.

“I’m glad you like it. I have to go now, or I’ll be late. Enjoy yourself today, my Belle.”

“Bye, Papa. Thank you!” she called as her father hurried out the door. He waved as he bustled away and she turned back inside.

Confident she was alone, Belle set about drawing water from the well for a bath. Papa had bought a bathtub, amongst other necessities he could not make himself, which was stored against an empty wall in the kitchen when it wasn’t in use. It was going to take a long time to heat enough water, but Belle was looking forward to soaking in the tub until her fingers were completely wrinkled.

She had soaked until the water was too cold and had finished the book she was reading. It was an old copy of her own, the book she had borrowed from the bookseller safely stowed away from the water. When she dried off, she put on her old day dress and settled in making small adjustments to her new dress.

Belle wasn’t terribly fond of sewing, mostly since it was impossible to read at the same time, but she was good at it. After years of patching holes into clothes that should have been discarded and lowering hems in dresses she had long grown out of, she had to be.

But now her skills went into something new, something fine. It felt like starting a new chapter, a new book, working on her new blue dress. Like they were finally leaving the sorrows of their old life behind. There had to be more, she desperately wanted more, but in that moment with her fingers working deftly on the bright blue cloth, she was content.

When she was done, Belle changed out of her worn, brown day dress and back into her new blue one. Her adjustments were accurate, making the shoulders fit better on her now, and no longer did she have to feel embarrased by a hem that was too short for someone her age. Belle folded her old dress and placed in the trunk that lay at the foot of her bed upstairs.

They had unpacked most of their things by this point, the attic filled now with those empty trunks and boxes. One of them was still full, though, she remembered. It was filled with what few belongings they still had of her mother. Most of her jewlry and dressed had to be sold when they moved from the apartment Belle had spent her childhood in, but they were able to hang on to a few precious things.

Belle sighed and sat on the trunk that now held her old dress. She wished her mother was with her to celebrate her birthday. There had been so many since her mother passed, but she felt the sting of this one, her sixteenth when she was on the cusp of womanhood and desperately wanted a mother’s guidance. What she wouldn’t give to hear her mother’s voice once more, to watch her brush her hair in the mirror, to walk with her in the park. But of course it was impossible.

She shook her head to bring her out of her somber thoughts. Her life with Maman had been a happy one, and she should cherish what time they had together, not pine over what might have been. Even so, she would never quite stop missing her mother.

Belle skipped downstairs, the feel of the crisp new fabric swishing around her legs cheering her, and decided to go into town. She needed a new book, and perhaps might find something she could have for lunch later on.

As she walked through town, she watched the baker return to his shop to refill his tray with steaming buns, the children playing on the street around adults bustling about buying wares from the shops along the street. It was just as it was since the first day she had arrived. There was something comforting in its routine when her whole world had been so recently been upheaved, and yet there was so much more of the world she wanted to see, so much more she wanted to do. But for now, a new book would be enough.

She stopped briefly to look into the window of a hat shop on her way to the bookshop, admiring the beautiful silk and feathers. Belle never liked to wear hats herself, not since she was old enough to have an opinion about it, but there was almost an art to them. Some went too far into the ridiculous, but there was skill in it.

A second reflection joined her own in the window and she turned to face its owner. A boy, perhaps her own age, stood before her with a nervous smile spread across his freckled face.

“Hello,” she greeted kindly, seeing he was too nervous to speak. “We haven’t been introduced, have we? I’m Belle,” she offered and held out her hand. The boy looked at it uncertainly before taking it and shaking it briefly. Belle was rattled with the force of the boy’s handsake, but he meant no harm.

“Bernard,” he replied shortly, his smile wavering a little.

“Was there something you wanted, Bernard?” she asked, judging that he was working himself up to say something.

“Y-yes. I was w-wondering—“ Bernard began, but was cut off as a large hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“Why hello, Belle,” Gaston greeted, practically shoving poor Bernard away to center himself in her attention.

“Gaston, I was talking to Bernard,” she said impatiently and looked around Gaston only to find the poor boy had disappeared.

“It seems like he was done,” Gaston laughed.

“You scared him off,” she scolded.

“What do you mean? You’ve got a new dress, haven’t you?” Gaston said, leaning in towards her, one arm resting on the wall behind her and poor Bernard forgotten.

“Yes,” she said, dodging out from under his arm and making her way towards the bookshop. He wouldn’t follow her in there; she just had to endure him following her until then.

“You look more beautiful than ever. When did you get it?”

Belle could tell he meant his words as a compliment, but it sounded a bit sordid in her ears.

“This morning. It was a birthday present from my father,” she replied quickly, eager to be rid of him. They had only been talking for a few minutes, but Belle never felt her patience tested so strongly as she did when she was with Gaston.

“Ah, your father. I hear he’s working down at my tavern. We could go see him, and I could show you my trophies.”

“I’ll see him tonight,” she dismissed. “I’m actually headed to the bookshop.”

“The bookshop? Belle, you’ve been spending too much time there. You’ve not even been here a month and people are already starting to talk.”

“About my reading? Well, let them. Please excuse me,” she said and walked faster to leave him behind. It wouldn’t be the first time people would talk about her reading habits, and Gaston pointing it out did nothing to deter her.

“Where’s she goin’?” she heard Lefou ask as she walked away. Of course Lefou was never far from Gaston’s side.

The merry tinkle of the bell on the bookshop door cheered Belle a bit and she sighed as she closed the half door behind her. She was in her element here. In the worlds that were contained in those shelves, it didn’t matter that the villagers were confused by her or that Gaston insisted on being a brute. Here, there were only her stories.

“Bonjour, monsier,” Belle greeted the man who had been so kind to her, kinder than most of the villagers had in her weeks of living in the village. “I’ve brought back another book.”

“Already? I’ll run out of books before too long. You’ve been here what, two weeks? And already my books have gotten more attention than they have in a year!” he exclaimed as he took back the offered book.

“Really, I’ll never know why you stay here if no one comes to the shop,” Belle said, already perusing the shelves for her next adventure. “But I’m certainly glad you do.”

“That’s reason enough for me, my girl,” the bookseller replied and Belle turned to send him her most grateful smile.

“I think I’ll take this one,” she said, pulling a volume with an unfamilar title off the shelf. She had been falling behind in her study of history and had intended on borrowing something to amend that, but she just couldn’t resist the prospect of a new novel. The bookseller took it from her to make note of the title and returned it with a smile.

“Why, is that a new dress I just noticed?” he said as he passed her the book back.

“It is. Papa gave it to me for my birthday.” She twirled to show off the dress, unable to contain her excitement at the more sincere compliment.

“It certainly suits you. All the lads will be after you in that.”

“Hmph. Well, that’s not what I intended,” she snorted, her mood dropping at the very mention of such a thing. “I haven’t had a new dress in so long, it’s nice to simply have something that fits.”

She knew she sounded bitter but she couldn’t help but picture Gaston’s greedy blue eyes as he sordidly complimented her new dress just a few minutes ago.

“I’ve noticed that Gaston’s been giving you some attention,” the bookseller continued.

“Unfortunately,” Belle sighed, wishing she could find an excuse to leave and end this uncomfortable conversation. “I wish he would leave me alone, even for just a day. Those triplet girls seem fond of him; why doesn’t he give them his attention?”

“Because they’re not a challenge,” the bookseller replied knowingly.

“A challenge?”

“Gaston knows he could have any one of them the minute he asked, but you clearly wouldn’t just comply to whatever he asked. You’re giving him the thrill of the chase, my dear.”

I most certainly am not,” she protested. “I don’t want anything to do with him!”

“Now, now, don’t get all upset, not on your birthday. I’m sure you’ll figure something out that will get him off your scent, so to speak. Oh, by the way, I’ll be getting a shipment in next week, so make sure to stop by and see what I’ve got.”

Relieved to be leaving on a better note, Belle nodded to the bookseller and left. He was a nice man most of the time, but every so often he could say things that were rather rude. Belle took a deep breath as she stepped back into the sunlight and strode through the village and back home.

The rest of the day she was determined to make wonderful. Perhaps she would make herself a cup of tea and read a few chapters of her new books. Or maybe it was time she explore the fields behind her house. Yes, bringing her book out to the summer breeze and empty fields sounded perfect to her.

She paused at the house long enough to draw herself a drink from the well before circling around to the back of the house. She patted the nose of their goats who bleated in response and made her way out to the fields.

It was an empty, expansive space filled with nothing but grass and wildflowers, lined on each side by a grove of trees. Belle had never seen such a thing before she left the city; it was her most favorite thing about the country, this wide open space with so much life teeming in it.

Belle could feel the tensions of the village peel off her as she strolled through the grass, the warm summer’s breeze playing with her hair. She climbed up a small hill near the end of her property and gasped when she realized what lay in front of her. It was the same view available to her from her bedroom window, but being out in it, touching the grass and tasting the wind, somehow made it all the more tremendous.

She stood on the edge of the hill that sloped impossibly downward; below her lay miles and miles of untouched beauty: a river wound between hills topped with luscious green trees. Belle could hardly breath from the sight of it and wondered how she had not yet seen what was in her very back door. What she wouldn’t give to go out there and explore that wild, to find what lay in it, around it, and beyond it. Somewhere out there lay an adventure just waiting for her, far away from this tiny town with its simple people.

But she had Papa to think of. She couldn’t just leave him, not when she was all he had left.

So Belle settled down in the grass, with her book and lived the adventure of the characters instead. It was the only sort of adventure she was able to obtain, and it would have to do. 


	26. Chapter 26

The idea of storing and saving food for winter was a foreign idea to Belle and her father. Though it was a mild winter, Belle found that there were fewer and fewer groceries available at the market, and that canned food was much more expensive than it was in Paris. By January, they had spent much more than they had planned, and winter wouldn’t release its grip for at least another month.

“Out of herbs already?” a woman asked Belle conversationally as she browsed in the market nearby one chilly January day.

“Oh, no. I’m afraid I’ve never had to preserve food before,” Belle confessed, feeling her face flush with embarrassment.

Belle recognized this woman from seeing her around town, but they’ve never been introduced before. She was perhaps a couple years older than Belle. She wore a brown scarf over her coal-colored hair and her clothes were the same muted brown and grey most of the villagers wore.

“In Paris, there wasn’t really a way for us to grown our own food to preserve.”

“So you’re from Paris? I’ve never been, but it sounds lovely.”

“It’s all right. I miss it sometimes, it’s where i grew up, but the air is so much cleaner here, and it’s much more peaceful,” Belle said quickly. She had learned during the months of her stay here that the townspeople were protective of their village, and to confess that she preferred the city tended to offend the.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” the woman said, shifting the basket on her arm to offer Belle her hand. “I’m Sophia.”

“Belle,” she replied amiably, taking her hand.

“If you like, I can show you how to preserve your own food for next season. I don’t pretend to be the best at it, but my husband and children haven’t complained yet,” she offered with a smile.

“That would be very kind,” Belle started, surprised at an offer. “But are you sure you want to go through the bother?”

“It’s no bother at all,” she insisted. “It’s too late to start now, of course, but I’d be happy to show you when the time comes. And,” she paused to look around and took Belle’s arm to lead her a few steps away from the shop owner. “I’ll even show you how to grow your own food so you won’t have to buy it here. You’ve got plenty of land at the cottage, after all.”

“I—well, thank you,” Belle said, overwhelmed by this woman’s generosity. “But, if I may ask, why are you offering me all this? It’s certainly very kind of you, but surely you’re very busy.”

“Well, to be perfectly honest, and if you’ll forgive me for being so forward, I’ve heard some unkind things about you. I thought if you made a few friends here, the rest might accept you more.”

“Oh,” Belle replied dismally. She had wondered why so few people had bothered to talk to her. She had tried many times to strike up conversations with them, but they were nearly always met with one-word answers or worse, silence. She knew they thought her strange for reading, and she tried not to talk about it too much, she really did. But she couldn’t deny herself, and apparently that’s what many of the villagers took offense to.

“I think you seem perfectly lovely,” Sophia added quickly. “Most of these people are so set in their ways they can’t see past the ends of their noses anymore.”

“Thank you for saying that, madame,” Belle said, knowing that she meant well even as it stung a little to hear.

“Sophia, please,” she insisted.

“Sophia,” Belle agreed.

“What’s in your basket here?” Sophia asked, pointing tot he book that was gently placed amongst the groceries.

“Oh, I’ve read this one before, but it’s a perfectly lovely story about a servant girl who attends a ball. She wins the heart of a prince, but the magic that brought her to the ball wears off and she had to flee, leaving only a glass slipper for the prince to find her with.”

“Glass slippers? That sounds terribly uncomfortable,” Sophia laughed, thought not unkindly. In fact, it was the most attention anyone had given her when discussing one of her stories. It gave Belle a bit of hope, hope that she might finally be making a friend.

There wasn’t much work for Papa during the winter, aside from plugging up gaps and drafts in the neighbors’ houses. But he was able to take that time to properly set up his workshop in the cellar. Belle helped him as she could, organizing his tools the way he isntructed and hanging gears and supplies on the pegs he installed on the walls.

Soon enough he was hard at work, shutting himself in the cellar for hours on end to work on his inventions as he hadn’t been able to to since Belle’s mother way alive. It was so good to see her father at his inventions again; perhaps by the time the spring fair came around, he would have something to enter into the contest the bookkeeper had mentioned to her.

When she was a child, she was never allowed in the cellar of their apartment where Papa would work without her or Papa. Her mother had told her it was too dangerous, and from the amount of explosions that blew the cellar door open now, she was probably right. But now that Belle was a woman nearly grown, she was more than capable of looking out for herself.

One day, early in February when she snows had started to recede but spring was still a long way off, she decided to go and see what her father had been working on.

“Papa?” she called as she made her way down the few steps into the cellar.

“Over here,” she heard him reply, his voice slightly muffled. Belle spotted him crouched down behind his new machine, some sort of magnifying machine.

“What’s this?” she asked, going over to inspect the machine.

“A device that lets you see who’s on the other side of the door before you answer it!” her father declared grandly. “Look here, when I’m done, you can look through here and it will show you who’s on our doorstep. I still have to figure out the view-finder, but it’s nearly ready!”

“That’s wonderful, Papa!” Belle praised. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out in no time.”

“I just hope I get it done before the spring fair.”

“I’m sure you will.” She was bursting with pride for her father, overjoyed to see him so happy. He deserved this, after all he had been through over the years.

Belle watched her father work for a moment, bustling to and fro, a grin on his face all the time he worked. She might not have landed on her feet out here, but her father certainly had.


	27. Chapter 27

Spring followed the mild winter and Belle was able to begin her lessons with Sophia. She learned how to plant seeds and help them grow, to stretch the food she could not make herself so it lasted as long as possible, and to preserve food for the winter.

In return, Belle would help Sophia around her house. Sophia’s two young children were absolutely darling, but they were quite a handful, so Belle would help tidy up and keep them entertained while their mother prepared supper for them.

Lorraine and Thomas were eight and six years old respectively, and both were extremely energetic. It was no wonder Sophia seemed exhausted all the time. While Belle enjoyed the hours with them, it only reinforced the idea that Belle was not ready to settle down just yet.

Often, Belle would turn their playtime into games of learning, teaching Lorraine and Thomas new words and simple math. The children never seemed to mind they were learning outside the schoolhouse, not when she made a game out of it. It was the same way Belle had worked with the set of rowdy brothers she had tutored back in Paris.

Though the children were sweet and Sophia was kind, Belle never stayed longer than a couple of hours. Only twice did she stay for dinner; she never felt truly comfortable in their home. She couldn’t be herself there. Sophia wanted to be her friend, to help her adjust to the village’s ways, but what Sophia really wanted was for Belle to change herself to fit into the village’s mold.

The warmth of spring also brought the return of Gaston. According to the villagers, he had left in the fall on a hunting trip, taking a dog, his gun, bow and arrows, and Lefou. Belle had nearly forgotten what a nuisance he was until she went into town one fresh spring day to meet Sophia.

“Why hello, Belle,” she heard as she made her way around the fountain at the village’s center.

Belle stopped in her tracks and held her breath, knowing who was greeting her but hoping against hope he might get distracted and leave her alone. But of course that was foolish to even think, and she forced a smile as he came into her line of vision.

“Bonjour, Gaston,” she replied as politely as she could manage.

“Did you miss me while I was away?” he asked with what she assumed was supposed to be a winning smile but looked more as though he was going to eat her.

“Had you gone somewhere?” she asked before she could stop herself. That was rude, she scolded herself, but Gaston seemed far from offended. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“Belle, you’ve cut me to the quick,” he moaned dramatically. “You must make it up to me by coming to the tavern and admiring the skins I’ve brought back.”

“Actually, I’m expected somewhere,” she said truthfully.

“Not the bookstore. You still haven’t given that silly reading up?” Gaston moaned, rolling his eyes to the clouds.

“That’s not it. I mean, no I haven’t given reading up. But I’m meeting a friend.”

“A friend?”

“Sophia.”

“Oh yes, Sophia. Nice girl, a little plain. Married the cobbler,” Gaston recited easily. Belle was admittedly impressed that Gaston knew who Sophia was and who she was married to, but she supposed that was only because he had made a pass at her at some point.

“Yes, so if you’ll excuse me,” Belle said and dodged around Gaston.

“Aw, now c’mon, Belle. I’ve only just got back. Sophia can wait,” he said, catching up to her and wrapping one large arm around her shoulders, his fingers tightening around her arm to prevent an escape.

Belle wrinkled her nose. Apparently he had just gotten back, and hadn’t even bothered to stop and bathe. But she didn’t see a way out this time; she would just have to endure it and apologize to Sophia later.

Nearly two hours later, Belle was finally able to escape Gaston’s attentions and flee to Sophia’s house.

“I’m so sorry,” she said when Sophia opened the door.

“I was worried about you,” Sophia replied and ushered her into the house. “What happened?”

“Gaston’s back in town and wanted me to see those awful skins he had brought back. I couldn’t get away until just now.”

“Ah, I see. Well, I know he’s a little rough around the edges, but you’re lucky he’s taken such a liking to you.”

“Lucky?” Belle couldn’t believe her ears. Sophia thought it was lucky that Gaston wouldn’t leave her alone, pestered her about her reading, and was so full of himself she could hardly stand it?

“Of course! He’s the most admired man in the village, after all. He protects us from the wild animals in the forest and sells his skins to profit the village.”

“Does he?” Belle was surprised at that generosity.

“Well, he sells them to stock the tavern. Then we can go eat and drink and the village spreads around the wealth that way. It’s the heart of the village, you understand.

“I see,” Belle said with a nod. Gaston had the entire town under the impression that he did good for them. He was certainly cocky enough to pull it off.

“I’m sorry, Sophia, but I can’t stay. I promised Papa I’d be home this afternoon. Can we do this another day?”

Sophia agreed and Belle made her hasty retreat, giving the tavern a very wide berth. She could hear Papa working in the cellar as she approached her little cottage and had half a mind to go down and talk to him. But there was nothing he could say that would make her feel better just now, so Belle went into the house and climbed upstairs to her room.

She felt beaten, disheartened by the village and their attitude towards her. Sophia, Gaston, and the bookseller were the only ones that offered her more than a ‘good morning’ or ‘good day.’ Sophia and Gaston wanted to change her so she fit better with the village. And the bookseller was a kind man, but he wasn’t much of a conversationalist.

Once again, her heart ached for an adventure, something beyond this tiny village and its tiny people. She didn’t even mind being in the country, didn’t mind that other people loved to bake and sew and raise cattle, but that wasn’t her dream, it wasn’t what she wanted. She would suffocate here, she was sure of it.

In an attempt to find some space, Belle threw open the window of her room and leaned on the sill, breathing in the spring wind that blew in from the wild fields. Someday...someday she’d leave this place and find her adventure. She just had to.


	28. Chapter 28

“I’m back, Belle,” Papa said as he opened the door to their cottage. Belle tucked a ribbon between the pages of her book to mark her place before rising to greet her father.

“Welcome home, Papa! How was the fair?” she asked, embracing him tightly as she spoke.

It had been lonely with him gone the past week, her first week in the village without him, and she was glad he had come home safely.

“Don’t ask,” he groaned, sinking into a chair at the table. “The belt broke halfway through my demonstration and my spare wouldn’t fit right. It was a disaster.”

Belle knelt by her father’s chair and placed a hand on his arm. He sagged with defeat, and it broke her heart. His first attempt at trying to reclaim a sliver of the life he had before his wife’s death years ago had failed.

“Never mind, Papa. There’s another fair in the fall, I’m sure you can work it out by then,” she said, doing her best to reassure him. So many years away from his inventions had made him rusty, that’s all. Next time it would work out better.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, trying this again. I’m too old for this game.”

“Papa, that’s nonsense and you know it,” she scolded. “You just have to give yourself a chance.”

“You’re so good to your Papa,” he said with a weary smile and patted her hand. “But I don’t know if I’ve got it in me.”

“Of course you do. Papa, all my life you’ve wanted to do so much more than just fix old chairs and doors. Now that you can, you can’t let this one setback ruin all those years of waiting.”

“You remind me so much of your mother,” he said, almost to himself. “All right, I won’t throw away the whole idea. Perhaps just this invention, eh? Start fresh?”

“Whatever you need to do, Papa,” she smiled. “I’ll get you something to eat and you can tell me about your trip.”

Papa had traveled nearly fifteen miles to show off his clothes washing device. He had been so sure he’d win. Belle had too. She had seen it work; she had given enough of their bed linens for Papa to test, hadn’t she?

But when the time came to demonstrate the device, one of the belts broke and he had to watch someone else get his blue ribbon prize.

“There’s another fair in the fall,” she reminded him. “You’ll win for sure then.”

“That’s only a few months from now. Best get started!” Papa exclaimed with renewed vigor and made his way to his cellar. Belle watched him go, helpless against the grin that spread across her face. She knew Papa would be recognized for his genius someday, and she wouldn’t let him give up on himself, not now.

“Belle!” she heard someone call from outside. Belle dropped her book and rushed outside to find Papa all but galloping towards the house, gold and red leaves kicking up from the ground as they went.

“Belle!” he called again, waving to her.

“What is it?” she laughed, seeing his wide grin. It had been a long time since she had seen him so excited. Papa reigned Philippe in just in front of the house and Belle skipped down the steps to meet him.

“They loved it!” he cried. “It worked perfectly and they loved it!”

“The judges at the fair? Oh, Papa, that’s wonderful!” she bent to embrace him and he nearly crushed her ribs in response.

“I knew you could do it. What did they say?” she asked when he released her and she could breathe again.

“That it was clever, ahead of its time. Ahead of its time, Belle! Isn’t it wonderful!”

“It really is,” she agreed, nearly bursting with his happiness.

“I only came in second place, but they said it was close. Of course, that means my prize isn’t nearly as big and no one’s buying my invention, but I’ve been recognized! They said they’d look for me at the next fair.”

“I’m so proud of you, Papa!”

“Help me get the machine to the cellar,” he asked, leading Philippe closer to the cellar doors. “I need to tweak it and have it ready to win first prize!”

Belle went ahead and slid a wooden ramp over the cellar steps so they could slide the machine back into the basement. It was heavy, but she managed well.

“Careful now,” Papa said as they pulled it down the ramp and across the stone floor of the cellar into place. The machine thudded down and her father cried out.

“What happened?” Belle demanded, rushign around the machine, afraid to see her father caught under the machine somehow. But he had only cut himself a little on a sharp corner.

She took his injured hand and examined the wound. It was a small gash across his palm, but blood was already pooling in his cupped hand.

“Of course, because I told you to be careful I hurt myself,” he chuckled.

Belle took the small box from off one of her father’s work shelves for just such an event.

“Here, hold this to you hand and I’ll get some water to wash it out,” she instructed and left to heat some water in the kettle. Within minutes, the water was ready and she returned to her father to clean and wrap the cut.

“Where did you learn to do that? Sophia?”

“No, though now I’m able to can fruit with the best of them,” she laughed. “I learned this from a book.”

“Really?” he said and Belle smiled at the disbelieving tone in his voice.

“Books are more than fairy tales, Papa.”

“Well, I have a feeling that book is going to come in handy, then. Thank you, my Belle,” he said and drew his newly bandaged hand back.

“I’ll see to Philippe,” she said, watching him turn back to his machine, his attention already reclaimed.

“Is everything all right, my Belle?” he asked, surprising her.

“Of course, Papa. Why wouldn’t it be?” she replied, but found she couldn’t quite muster a full smile.

“Just checking,” he said and turned back to his work.

Belle climbed the steps of the cellar and led Philippe towards the small stable she hand Papa had built for him their first week at the house. Slowly, she unhitched the small, open wagon Papa had his machine on and needed all her strength to pull the small, wheeled thing to one side.

She led Philippe inside and began to brush the dirt and sweat from his coat. Her hands were slow at their work, eventually the brush just fell from her hand. Philippe looked around to see why she had stopped, but Belle hardly took notice.

She really thought Papa would win this time. If he had, they might have had enough money to leave this town. She might have had a chance for something more. Not Paris. They’d never get to Paris again. But something more.

And she was truly proud of her father; he tried so hard to get as far as he had. She was only being selfish. Maybe it would be better if she had a friend. Sophia was as close as she had, but that was one-dimensional, more of a transaction than a friendship.

She missed Clarice. Their letters had been steady and frequent for awhile, but they had tapered off. Clarice had borne a child since Belle had left, which Clarice was thrilled with, but meant she had little time for writing letters. Belle’s own busy days with chores and lessons with Sophia left her with little time herself.

Besides, it wasn’t the same writing letters to a person she used to spend whole days with. It was like writing to a stranger with their lives taking such different turns. Perhaps it was for the best, but it left her feeling so empty, and so alone.

Philippe nudged her elbow, drawing Belle out of her thoughts enough to smile and pet the horse’s velvet nose. Perhaps she did have a friend here after all.

The next day, Belle went to the bookshop and took every book she could about horseback riding. There weren’t many; most people who were interested in it apparently learned by doing. But Belle did what she could through her books until she simply had to hop in the saddle to learn the rest.

They had a secondhand saddle from when they first bought Philippe, so she at least had a place to start.

Belle figured out how to properly saddle the horse from the diagrams in her book, but the physicality of it was a whole different matter. The saddle was much heavier than she thought and, though she had grown much stronger since they had moved out to the country, it still took her several tries to hoist the saddle up and over Philippe’s broad back. But Philippe was patient and let her do what she needed.

Then she had to find the right girth and the right length for the stirrups before she could even attempt to clamber up on the horse. When she was finally ready, she led Philippe outside the stable, intent on finding a rock or stump to help her vault up. She had to settle for the steps in front of the house, which was a little awkward.

After a few unsuccessful attempts, Belle finally managed to hoist herself upwards and scramble into the saddle. She ended up sitting astride the horse as a man would, but it was comfortable. Just to be sure, she swung her leg back over and sat as the diagrams in her books said a lady was supposed to. It was acutely uncomfortable and Belle immediately swung her leg back over to sit astride again.

“Ok, Philippe, here we go.” She took a deep breath and instructed the horse to move forward. He moved slowly, as if he could sense her uneasiness. But more quickly than she could believe, she felt herself adjusting to the horse’s rhythm.

She sat up straighter and had the confidence to push the horse a tiny bit faster. Soon she was cantering around the yard and into the fields beyond the cottage as if she had been riding since she was a little girl. She felt as though she was born for this, to fly across to the ground as easily as a bird through air.

For the first time since she left the city, Belle felt free.

By the time the winter snows blew in, she could swing the saddle on top of Philippe and vault into the saddle without any aid. She could feel herself growing strong, the soreness slowly easing as her muscles adjusted to their new work. And what’s more, she felt happy. She and Philippe grew very close because of the attention Belle was showing him and his company provided her with another outlet to escape her life in the village.

And Belle had been able to properly prepare the house for winter. Unlike last winter, Belle had a store of preserved meats, fruits, herbs, and more enough to last them through the season. Sophia had done her a great service teaching her how to properly run a house in the country, and Belle wanted to show her gratitude. She invited her to dinner to show off all that she had learned, but to her suprise, Sophia declined.

“I don’t understand,” she said to her father that same night. “Why did she say no?”

“I don’t know, my Belle. I didn’t think your cooking was that bad,” he teased.

“Papa,” she sighed and smiled in acknowledgement of his joke.

“Why don’t you make something to bring to her instead? Might be she can’t get away from the children.”

“Maybe. I’ll try that, thanks Papa.”

The next day, Belle made a pie using the last of the apples to bring to Sophia and her family.

“Oh!” Sophia cried in surprise when Belle presented it to her at her home. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today. I thought we had finished our lessons.”

“We did, and I learned so much from you. I baked this myself as a thank you,” Belle replied, holding out the pie and trying to imagine the half-opened door was not a sign of unwelcome.

“Oh, how nice of you,” Sophia said and took the pie from Belle.

“Well, I wanted to do more, but this will have to do,” Belle said, leading towards the question she wasn’t sure she wanted to ask.

“Yes, I’m sorry. It was very kind of you to make dinner. But...” Sophia glanced back and forth, but said nothing further.

“But what?” Belle pressed. Sophia glanced inside once and stepped out her house, balancing the pie in one hand to close the door behind her.

“Gaston stopped by the other day. He seemed to think you were spending to much time with us at the house...with Stephan.”

“Oh.” Stephan was Sophia’s husband, a nice mand who was kind to Belle, not to mention a wonderful father and husband to the children and Sophia. “Oh. Sophia, you don’t think that I—“

“Oh no,” Sophia said quickly and Belle sighed in relief. “I know you would never. But Gaston would rather that we didn’t spend any time together in private, that’s all.”

“Does everyone always do what Gaston says?” Belle said, crossing her arms with a scowl.

“He’s just sweet on you, that’s all. He wants to make sure you don’t find another man to fancy.”

“By isolating me from my friends and their families.”

“No, we can still see each other!” Sophia protested.

“Never mind,” Belle said. “I’m glad you told me. I’ll see you later, I suppose.”

“Thank you for the pie!” Sophia called as Belle left. Belle waved in acknowledgement but continued on her way. If Gaston thought he could keep her from her friends, he had another thing coming. Well, fond acquaintances. Belle didn’t have anyone as close to her as Clarice, but Sophia was the closest thing. And what business of Gaston’s was it?

She really didn’t want to go into the tavern, but she was guaranteed to find Gaston there and she needed to talk to him now. Many of the taverns she and Papa had encountered on their road from Paris were nice places with good food and friendly company. But this one was...different. Heads of helpless animals on the walls, beer by the barrel, loud and rude men occupying it at all hours of the day. Belle had only been in there once when Gaston practically dragged her in last spring, but Belle had done her best to avoid it since then.

And now here she was, not only seeking out Gaston for the first time, but willing entering the foulest place in town. But she had to get Gaston to stop his foolishness if she could.

It didn’t take long to find him. The moment she opened the door and stepped inside the tavern, Gaston’s booming voice called her name.

“Belle! What a surprise!” he bellowed from the opposite end of the tavern, reclined in his massive fur-draped chair, one leg draped over its arm as the three triplets draped themselves around him.

His loud greeting made everyone fall silent and turn to look at her. She just barely managed to subduge her blush by remenbering she was furious with Gaston and didn’t have time to be embarrassed.

It was clear that Gaston was not going to leave his chair, so Belle held her head high and stalked towards him. He shooed the girls away as she approached and grinned broadly. She grimaced, not wanting to imagine what was going through his head.

“Is it true you told Sophia she couldn’t see me any more?” she demaned as she drew level with him, not bothering to lower her voice in the hushed room. His smile dropped slightly, but he managed to keep it.

“Oh, Belle, you don’t need people like that in your life,” he scoffed.

“Is it true?” she repeated, crossing her arms.

“Why don’t we go outside and talk,” he suggested, standing up to lead her out.

“How dare you try to control who I do and do not see,” she continued as if she had not heard him, raising her voice even as Gaston towered over her. She was creating a scene, but it was worth it to see Gaston look so embarrassed. “Just who do you think you are, anyway?”

“I said let’s go outside,” he said through gritted teeth and took hold of her upper arm. His grip was strong and for a moment she froze, fear shooting through her like a lightning bolt. He led her out of the tavern and out of sight of the crowd. She pulled out of his grip as he brought her into the alley, though she knew it was only because he let her.

“I was doing you a favor, Belle,” he insisted. “People talk enough about you alread, you don’t want rumors spreading about what you were doing with Sophia’s husband.”

“Rumors? There aren’t any rumors, are there?”

Doubt crowded her mind. She hadn’t heard anything, but that didn’t mean there weren’t things being said.

“Not yet,” Gaston said slyly. “But it was only a matter of time.”

“You were going to spread those rumors if I hadn’t stopped going over there, weren’t you?” she figured out. “Why?”

“Belle, don’t be so paranoid. You know how people are, those rumors would have started all by themselves. I can’t have such things said about my woman,” he replied with an oily grin, closing the distance between them.

“I am not your ‘woman,’ Gaston,” she hissed, stepping away from him again. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“We’re perfect for each other, Belle. One day, you’ll come to see that, too.”

With that, Gaston stalked back into the tavern, leaving her to wonder what on earth she would have to do to get Gaston to leave her alone.


	29. Chapter 29

Belle realized quickly that it had been a mistake to publicly scold Gaston the way she had. Far from deterring Gaston from his mad methods, it became all too clear that he wanted to recover the image she had evidently wounded. More and more Gaston pushed his company on her, no longer allowing her excuses of visiting the bookstore. She couldn’t shake him no matter what she tried.

The only thing she could find to be positive about was that he never displayed the dangerous strength he demonstrated that day in the alley by the tavern. She never forgot the terror she felt though, and that hidden rage was added to the lengthening lists of reasons she couldn’t stand Gaston.

In place of that vicious rage, Gaston exuded what he obviously thought was charm and wit, but was far from it. She started avoiding going into town as much as possible, but it was impossible to avoid altogether. Necessities needed to be obtained; bread, cheese, and of course her books. She had goats at home which provided them with plenty of milk, but she never mastered the concept of making cheese and her father so enjoyed melted cheese on his bread for lunch.

“Bonjour, Belle!” his all-too-familiar voice called as she walked through the village one chilly winter’s day a few weeks after the confrontation at the tavern.

“Hello, Gaston,” she replied without looking, examining instead the frosted store window. She had come to town not only to exchange one book for another, but also to speak to one of Papa’s infrequent customers about mending their shutters. The villagers might tease her and talk about her father’s eccentricities, but it was undeniable that her father was peerlessly talented when it came to carpentry. And people always needed things mended in the winter when cracks and gaps became more noticable as the freezing winds blew through them. That, along with the prize winnings at Papa’s fairs, gave them enough to live off of and kept Papa in a supply of lumber and gears enough to go on inventing.

“That would look great on you,” Gaston continued, leaning quite close to her, peering over her shoulder from behind to look through the window with her.

She blinked and focuses in on what she had been unconsciously directing her gaze at.

“I’ve never been very fond of hats,” she said simply when she realized she had been peering in the hat shop window and walked away.

“Of course you aren’t,” Gaston agreed, chasing after her. “Why hide that beautiful face of your under a hat?”

She rolled her eyes and kept walking, wondering if he would do nothing but compliment her beauty at every turn. It was enough to drive her mad. At least he wasn’t talking about himself this time, though she supposed it wouldn’t be long.

“Was there anything I can do for you, Gaston?” she asked as patiently as she could, wishing he would stop following her, that she could go into town just once without having him badger her.

“Oh, there are a lot of things you could do for me, Belle,” he replied and Belle glanced up to see his wide grin. She restrained a grimace, wishing she had phrased that differently and trying very hard not to imagine what he was thinking. “But for now I’d settle for you accomanying me to the tavern. I’ve got a new wild pig head I haven’t shown you yet.”

“Gaston, I do not like looking at all the poor animals you’ve killed. I do not like going to the tavern, and I do not enjoy this conversation we’re having. Now please, I have things to be getting on with,” she said, speaking slowly and clearly so that her words might hold more weight, that he might actually listen to something she said.

“What’s wrong with our conversation?” he asked, dancing around her as she walked forwards, forcing her to stop once again.

“All you talk about is yourself or how beautiful I am,” she replied, surprised he had even asked. She made sure to keep her voice even and gentle, answering his honest question with an honest response.

“Why can’t you ask me how I’m feeling, or show some interest in something I like? Even ask me about the weather.”

“Well, why can’t you?” he replied. She was taken aback by this turn, but after a moment’s thought realized that he was right, she had never asked him any of the things she had just listed.

“All right,” she said, sensing a trap but deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt. “How are you today, Gaston?”

“Much better now that I’ve seen you,” he replied with a smirk and stepped up so close to her she could smell the sweat on his clothes.

“I knew it,” she huffed and turned on her heel, not caring where she went anymore as long as it was away.

“Woah, hold on Belle. What did I say?” he demanded, catching up to her again. She wanted to scream in frustration, but just barely managed to restrain herself. She couldn’t quite keep the anger out of her voice when she replied, though.

“You’re so rude, Gaston. You don’t care about anything at all besides yourself!”

“I care about you,” he pointed out.

“You care about my supposed beauty, that’s all. You don’t care how I feel or what I think,” she shot back.

“What’s there to know? You’re up and walking around, so you’re not sick. You’re not crying, so there’s nothing wrong with your crazy father. And what’s there for you to think about? Dinner and mending clothes, marrying a handsome man and raising handsome children. I’ve told you all those books would give you too many ideas. They’re ruining you for the role you were born for, the role of wife and mother.”

Belle could do nothing but stare at him in shock. Was this really what he thought? Of course it was, she had known that all along, but hearing him say it out loud was another thing altogether.

“Goodbye, Gaston,” she said, her voice cold and flat. She walked away from him and thankfully heard no pursuit. What a conceited...worm! How could he think such horrible, disgusting things? He clearly saw no wrong in what he said, and that only infuriated her more.

She realized her knuckles were white as she gripped the handle of her basket too tightly and forced herself to relax. There was no point in letting him get to her. She could not change him, nor did she want to be close enough to him to try. If he was at least willing to understand, to try to be better, maybe they could be friends, but she would grow old waiting for that to happen.

She knew she could talk to Papa about all this, that it would help to get it off her chest, and she had a little before. But if she admitted how truly lonely and unhappy she was, it wouldn’t be fair. He had spent so many years in unhappiness working a terrible job to support her, she owed him the happiness he felt here, working on his inventions.

Briefly, Belle entertained the idea of writing to Clarice, but it had been months since she last recieved a letter from her. Besides, it would take a very lengthy letter indeed to explain all of this from the beginning. And what would Clarice do, anyway? She was in Paris with a husband and at least one child, a long way removed from anything Belle was going through.

With a frustrated sigh and she neared the small bridge towards her home, she wondered how her life might have been different if she had stayed in the city. Gustave was nice enough; he certainly seemed to be interested in more than her beauty, anyway. What if she agreed to marry him when he had offered, to stay in Paris with him rather than move with her father?

She never would have had to tolerate Gaston, that was a certainty. But Gustave would not have been able to support both her and her father, not until he became a lawyer as he had been studying to be. Papa still would have had to leave the city to find work, and he would have been all alone.

Belle’s mind conjured up an image of her father sitting at the small table in their cottage along, eating a meager meal beside the dying firelight, no one to talk to, no one to keep his spirits up against the barrage of cruel jokes at his expense. Her heart ached at this image and she banished it from her mind.

Papa was not alone, she had come with him, and that was worth everything, even Gaston. She’d make the same choice over again, too. Between the world and her father, she’d choose her father every time, even though it might put her own dreams in jeopardy.

But still, it’d be nice if she didn’t have to deal with Gaston every time she went into town.

The triplets, on the other hand, were much more easy to deal with. Usually they left her alone, though if Gaston was in the area they were not far away. On this particular day, however, as Gaston stomped towards his tavern, the girls remained in the town square with Belle, intercepting her flight towards home.

Belle had no personal problems with them, she didn’t even know them really. They always struck her as rather silly and too eager to please Gaston, but they seemed harmless enough.

“Bonjour,” she said as they darted in front of her, creating a blonde wall between her and home.

“You’re not playing fair, you know,” one of them said. Belle blinked, surprisded by this comment.

“I—I’m sorry?” She wasn’t sure which one had spoken; frankly she didn’t even know which girl was which. She knew their names were paulette, Camille, and Victoria, but she had no way of telling which triplet held which name they were so perfectly identical.

“You’re not playing fair,” the one in the red dress said again.

“What do you mean?” Belle was completely lost.

“With Gaston. You could have any man in the village with your looks, but you make Gaston chase you,” the girl in amber elaborated.

“He was perfectly happy with us before you came to town. We were sure he was going to pick one of us to marry!” the girl in green added. All three of them crossed their arms and glared at Belle in unison.

“You think I want him to chase after me?” she asked increduously. “You can have him, if that’s what will make you happy. In fact, please take him off my hands. Be my guest!” she said, gesturing in the direction in which Gaston had left.

“You don’t want him?” the red-clad triplet asked, her large eyes widening further to give her the look of a mindless doll.

“No, of course not. I’ve been trying all this time to get him to stop. I don’t want him, and I never will,” she said in earnest. She watched the girls glance at each other, obviously intrigued by this new information.

“We thought he’d stop when you weren’t the new girl in town anymore,” the girl in the amber dress admitted.

“When the ‘new toy’ lost its shine,” her sister in green added. Bell’s mind jumped back to the conversation she had with the bookseller quite awhile back. He had said Gaston had turned his attentions away from the triplets because they weren’t a ‘challenge.’ Now Belle could see a little of what he meant; th egirls were practically throwing themseleves at GAston and were upset when Belle had gotten in the way.

“But he didn’t, and we’ve been trying so hard to make him pay attention to us again. But all he talks about is you! It’s...it’s...”

“Infuriating?” Belle supplied, but the girls seemed confused by this word. “Upsetting?” Belle amended and this time the triplets nodded emphatically. “I’m sorry to have caused you all such distress, but I assure you I do not want Gaston. Don’t give up on him, if he’s the one you want. I surely won’t stand in your way.”

“Well, you’re crazy not to want him, but that leaves the gate open for us, doesn’t it girls?” the girl in the red dress said and her sisters nodded again. Without another word, the three girls turned and headed towrads the warmth of the tavern where Gaston would doubtlessly be waiting for their comfort after another day of rejection.

Belle shook her head at the girls’ backs, wondering why on earth they wanted Gaston so badly. What could they possibly see in him?

Probably the same thing Gaston sees in me, Belle mused. Only superficial beauty.

With the thought of supper, a warm fire, and her father’s company in mind, Belle did her best to push aside the distress of the day and headed back home just as a light snow began to fall.

****

He watched the snow fall gently as he stood on the balcony of the West Wing, his breath coming out in great puffs in the freezing air. He barely felt anything anymore except for anger and hate. He hated himself, and even more he hated the enchantress, the emotion burning inside him as clearly as if had the first day she had entered his life.

There had been no word from her at all, nothing that might hint she might revoke the curse or that his salvation was on the horizon. He didn’t even hope for that anymore, he hadn’t in a long time. Still, he couldn’t help but look over the line of trees of the forest and wonder if the girl who might have broken his curse was out there.

With a huff that created a great cloud, Beast whirled and turned inside to stand over the rose. That evil rose, so beautiful in its crimson perfection. It taunted him with its beauty. Turning his eyes from it, he focused instead on the magic mirror. That was a curse for him, too, even though the enchantress said it was a gift. Through its surface he could see the world that was lost to him. See it, but not touch it. He didn’t even know what to ask the mirror for most of the time. He hadn’t seen much of the world before the curse was cast and had very few places he wanted to revisit. Many times, Beast would take the mirror in his paws and simply stare at its surface, at a loss, his anger growing at the monster he saw in its reflection.

Some of his more ambiguous requests had come out very well, though. When he had asked to see the ocean, for example, without knowing the names of location, the mirror showed him quite an impressive view of endless blue waves, illuminated by a golden sun. He could even hear the sound the waves made, rhythmic and calming. He had only see the ocean once up close, but he had been a very small boy and couldn’t remember it clearly.

Now Beast asked the mirror to show him the ocean again and again the mirror complied, this time showing him grey waves peppered with chunks of ice. The ocean looked cold and dangerous, but Beast relished the sight even so. It was a beautiful place, a cold beauty just as the rain was as beautiful as the snow and yet so different. For a moment Beast closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the waves, imagining himself on the shore and not his crumbling castle. But the magic couldn’t allowed the sea air to blow in his face or the salty smell he barely recalled to wash over him, which spoiled the effect, and Beast growled in dissatisfaction.

When he set the mirror down again, the forest still surround his dark castle, he was still a prisoner in his own home. It was a gift to see such far off places, but when those images faded, the reality of what he was always returned to him with a gut-wrenching crash. He would never be free of this place. Never.


	30. Chapter 30

Beast woke one morning in his nest of feathers and blankets that used to be his mattress. Before he opened his eyes, he could smell the subtle warmth and freshness in the air that meant spring had arrived. There was something else, though. Something different. He sat up and looked around at the mess of the West Wing. Something had changed, but what?

As he extracted himself from his nest and stretched, he realized what it was. The first petal of the enchanted rose had fallen.

Beast rushed to the rose and placed his paws delicatly on the bell jar, staring at the small petal that lay on the table’s surface, just under the rose’s stem.

For a moment, he was in complete disbelief. Perhaps he was still dreaming. But no, he was very much awake, and the petal that lay so innocently on the table was real. The countdown that would seal his doom had begun.

“No,” he whispered, but his voice grew in his panic. “No, no, NO!”

He roared, whirling away from the horrible truth and batted away an old broken table. Beast made his destructive way through the West Wing, not in fury this time but in fear. He wanted to escape, needed a way out, but there was none. He couldn’t think with the panic that flooded his mind.

Beast tore through the furniture only to find himself scraping at the stone walls closing him in. But then it wasn’t the walls trapping him, it was his own skin. He tore at that, too, wishing only to be rid of the horrible animal he was encased in. But as his claws dug into the flesh of the creature, he realized again that he was not encased in this body, but that he was this creature. He howled and roared in fear and pain, feeling as though he would suffocate within the fur and bulk of his twisted form.

He staggered back to the small table and took the mirror up in his massive paw. This time, for the first time, he adressed not the mirror but the Enchantress herself.

“How long do I have?” he gasped, each word coming out in its own individual breath.

He waited, hoping that the Enchantress might respond. He had not asked anything of her since he was placed under the enchantment, and had not asked the mirror to show him the future since those first days asking who might break the curse.

If the Enchantress was still paying him any mind, perhaps she would take pity on him to answer him this one thing.

The mirror glowed and Beast nearly cried out in joy. He watched carefully as the mirror showed the image of the rose under its bell jar. Beyond it, he could see his own balcony and the forest beyond that.

He watched as the mirror showed gold and crimson leaves fall upon the stone balcony and a few more petals dropped from the rose. The image shifted and snow piled up against the balcony’s short wall, with only a handful of petals remaining on the rose. When the rains of spring fell upon the stones of the balcony, Beast watched as the final red petal fell. Then the mirror went dark and all he could see was his own monstrous reflection.

A year. He had a year until the enchantment would be permanent. Well, that was better than a week or a month, but it did little to console him. What difference did it make? No one would come to break this curse, whether he had a year or a day.

He placed the mirror back onto the table and found a corner to hide himself in, as if he could only hide himself well enough then the curse might not touch him.

“Master?” he heard from the doorway of his sanctuary not long after he curled into the shadows. He did not answer, but the speaker came into his realm anyway. He heard the clink of porcelain the metallic beat of brass, and the dull thud of wood that told him his three head servants had come to see what was wrong.

“What is it, Master?” Mrs. Potts asked gently when they had found him in his corner.

“Look,” he grunted, pointing a paw towards the table. He couldn’t bear to look again himself.

“The rose? Master, I do not understand,” Lumiere said. Beast was about to lose his temper when he realized the servants were not tall enough to see the surface of the table. With great effort, he told them what had happened.

There was silence as they took in what he said, what it meant for them all.

“H-how much time is left, then?” Cogsworth asked, trying to sound as though the news did not phase him although Beast could hear the tremor in his voice.

“A year,” he grunted, avoiding their eyes. “I asked the mirror, and it showed me the last petal will fall next spring.”

“But the mirror does not—“

“It did this time,” he snapped, making Lumiere and Cogsworth shudder.

“You’ve hurt yourself, dear,” Mrs. Potts said, ignoring the news.

Beast looked down at his chest and stomach where he had clawed himself in his panic. The cuts weren’t deep, but blood had matted his fur a little already.

“They will heal,” he grunted. He wanted them to leave, wanted to be alone.

“I’d like to have someone clean them, if I could,” she continued.

“I said, they will heal,” he repeated, his words coming out with a growl. “Leave me be.”

With that, Beast stood and ran to the balcony on all fours to find the solitude he craved amongst the rooftops.

—-

Spring finally arrived, melting away the harsh snows of winter. That meant mud and mess, but it was also a sign that the world was coming alive again. Belle had brought herself and her father through the winter much more successfully than the last, which she was immensely proud of. They hadn’t exactly starved the previous winter, but it hadn’t been all that comfortable, either. This time around, though, Belle had learned enough from Sophia to see them through the harsh winter snows with full bellies and warm fires.

She and Sophia still saw each other occasionally despite Gaston’s ban, but Sophia never visited Belle’s cottage and neither did Belle bother with trying to visit Sophia’s house. She doubted Gaston would do anything serious, and on her worst days she was tempted to put that to the test—why should he be able to set such rules, anyway?—but the strong grip he took on her arm the day she challenged him at the tavern frightened her. It reminded her of just how strong and unhinged Gaston could be.

Gaston hadn’t gone on his hunting trip that season, either. The previous year, Gaston had been gone from mid fall to the early spring, but this time around he could be reliably found in his tavern drinking and singing rude songs with the rest of the tavern’s patrons.

But he always found time to bother her, of course. But it was never to help dig out the snowdrifts that buried the front door of the cottage or help get their cart from a bit of early-spring mud. If Gaston was going to bother her, why couldn’t he at least do something more helpful?

Spring brought with it the itch to be out doing something. Winter had closed her in all season, as much as she wanted to join in with the village children with their snowball fights and snowman building. She was very fond of the village children; several times now she had an even dozen of them gathered around her while she told them stories. But their parents weren’t as accepting and would often pull their children away after a little while. No one was outright rude, but Belle knew they did not approve.

Wanting to do something, anything, to drive away the last of the winter gloom, Belle saddled Philippe and took him for a walk through the muddy roads outside the village. They would both need a thorough cleaning afterwards, but it was worth it to be out in the crisp spring air for a bit.

As she toured the outskirts of the village on horseback, she realized she had never really seen the forest that skirted it on the west side. She and Papa had come from the north, out of the farm fields. Papa sometimes went through it to get to his fairs, but she had never gone deeper than the first line or so of trees.

Belle led Philippe to the forest’s edge and together they stared down the road where it disappeared into the shadow of trees. Philippe pawed the ground uneasily, but Belle was only curious.

“You’re not thinking of going in there, are you?” a squeaky voice called, breaking her concentration.

She turned in the saddle to see Lefou and Gaston approaching her.

“What if I was?” she replied.

“I wouldn’t,” Gaston laughed. “It’s dangerous for a girl like you. Besides, it’s haunted.” Gaston stopped walked and put his hands on his hips, attempted to look impressive.

“Oh really?” she said, suppressing a snort of laughter. “Then why are you two going in?”

“We’re hunting,” Gaston explained, holding up his bow. Lefou seemed like he wanted to do nothing more but turn tail and flee back into the village. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“That the forest is haunted? No, I don’t,” she admitted.

“Well, you should! It’s true!” Lefou piped in.

“Deep in the forest, there’s a haunted castle,” Gaston began in a deep whisper that Belle supposed was meant to sound ominous.

“It belonged to the King’s brother. It was a beautiful place once, but some time ago, everyone died of scarlet fever and the castle was abandoned, rotting in those godforsaken trees.

“Used to be all the boys would go there on a dare,” he continued, resuming his normal tone. “When I went with some lads, we heard this awful howling, not something any animal I know could make. My friends were spooked and wanted to go back, so I didn’t get a chance to explore,” he shrugged, carefully hinting that he was not the one who was scared.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a great hunter?” Belle challenged, not buying the story for a second. “Why not try to find what made that noise and kill it?”

“You can’t kill a ghost!” Lefou squeaked, making Gaston guffaw.

“He’s got a point,” Gaston said when he caught his breath. “And anyway, no one’s been since me and the lads went. I told everyone it wasn’t safe. Crumbling piece of garbage is all that’s left of the castle.”

“There really is a castle?” Belle blinked in surprised.

“There is. That first part’s true. The prince and his family all died of scarlet fever and people were too scared to go in for a long time, then the thing started to fall into disrepair and no one bothered fixing it up.”

“But it’s haunted, too!” Lefou exclaimed, earning himself another chuckle and a slap on the shoulder from Gaston.

“If you need any more convincing to stay out of those trees, there’s some very real wolves in there. They’d love a little snack like you to much on.” With that, Gaston headed into the forest, Lefou trailing along behind him.

Belle hesitated a moment, pondering the tree line, then turned Philippe back towards home.

“I’m back, Papa,” she called as she climbed down into the cellar. Papa had been working on building a new machine, some sort of log-chopping device. He had only just started, but Belle could see it taking shape.

“Did you have a nice ride?” he asked distractedly, tightening a loose bolt.

“Nice enough,” she replied, taking a seat on the cold stone hearth where she’d be out of the way of his work. “I rode to the forest edge today by the town road, just to have a look. Gaston came up to go hunting and said it was haunted,” she said with a laugh.

“I’ve heard the same stories, some sort of old castle with terrible noises coming from it.”

“Do you believe it?”

“Not for a moment. But then, I don’t believe in ghosts. But the wolves are real enough, I can vouch for that personally.”

“Papa?” Belle was alarmed to learn that Papa might have been in trouble on his journeys to the fairs. Had he been chased? Attacked?

“Oh, nothing to worry about, my Belle. I just hear their howls every now and again. They’re too afraid of what I might do to them to mess with me,” he joked. Belle smiled, but felt sick at the very thought of her father going back out there.

“Don’t worry,” her father continued, coming over to pat her hand. “I track around the woods as far as I can before going through them. I’ve never been in the forest more than a few hours.”

Belle nodded, but that didn’t make her feel much better. Ghosts were nothing mist and imagination, but the thought of wolves sent gooseflesh up her arms. Nothing could make her want to set foot in those forests, not for the world.


End file.
